


The Man Who Never Reads

by savingpeoplehuntingthings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Library AU, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Punk!Dean, Self-Harm, Trigger warnings will be posted in notes of relevant chapters, bookshop au, hipster!cas, librarian!cas, pierced!dean, punk!dean/hipster!cas, singer!dean, tattooed!dean, widower!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:11:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 58
Words: 93,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savingpeoplehuntingthings/pseuds/savingpeoplehuntingthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one expects Dean Winchester;  leather clad, tattooed, pierced, lead-singer of a band, to be a good father to his three year old daughter Elsie. He just doesn't seem the fatherly type. And quiet, hipster, nerdy Castiel, who owns their local bookshop, doesn't seem like his type either, but that doesn't stop Dean falling head over heels in love with the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Do you have a kids' section?"

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from George R. R. Martin: "A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only once."
> 
> Updates will be once a week, hopefully. 
> 
>  

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gorgeous, heavily tattooed man and his daughter walk into Castiel's bookshop on a late June evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [MrSandman](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSandman/pseuds/MrSandman) and [brokenncastiel](http://brokenncastiel.tumblr.com/).

Castiel looked up from his book as the bell above the door tinkled. The man who walked in was unlike any customer he'd ever had before.  
  
He was probably in his late twenties, with spiked dusty-blond hair and bright green eyes ringed with black eyeliner. He wore tight black jeans with scuffed black Doc Martens. The bare skin visible under his black t-shirt was covered with intricate tattoos which snaked up the man's neck, covered his arms, and reached the palms of his calloused hands. His wrists were decorated with a multitude of leather bracelets and he wore a necklace with an Aztec-looking gold amulet. His facial piercings glinted in the summer sunlight that streamed in through the doorway. Holding the door open with one silver ringed finger, he turned to look outside.  
  
"C'mon Sweetie, let's go choose some books." His voice was low and fruity, with a twinge of a faded Texan accent.  
  
Castiel drew his eyes away from the man's defined biceps and saw a little girl, no more than three years old, totter in through the open door. The man swept her up in his arms and she giggled happily as he walked over to the desk.  
  
Castiel swallowed thickly. "Hello, how can I help you?" He said, trying not to stare at the man's gold flecked eyes, so expertly outlined in black. He noticed a large white gauze bandage on his left arm.  
  
"Hey," the man replied. "Do you have a kids' section?"  
  
"We do," Castiel smiled. "It's right over there." He pointed to the corner to his left which was painted a grubby white and had posters of children's books on the wall.  
  
The man sighed in relief. "Thank God! We've been to the library and three other bookshops in town and none of them have the right stuff for her age group. I wanna get her reading some picture books before she starts preschool in September. "  
  
Castiel smiled awkwardly again, watching as the man put the child down and let her run over to the red and blue beanbags in the corner. She giggled, throwing herself onto the closest one. The man followed and picked out a couple of books from the low shelves, showing them to the toddler. She nodded in approval and the man bought them to the counter.  
  
"Oh, I forgot to ask, can we loan them?" The man asked. "Money and space are a bit tight at the moment," he explained.  
  
Truthfully, Castiel had stopped loaning books out a year ago, after getting multiple copies of 'Fifty Shades of Grey' and other such books back, suspiciously stained. However, he still had the stickers and stamp in his desk drawer, which he took out, saying, "Of course. How long would you like them out for?"  
  
The man hesitated, unsure.  
  
"We usually loan for a month. Does that suit you?"  
  
"Yeah, that's fine."  
  
Castiel nodded in confirmation, twisting the numbers on the stamp to get the correct date. The last time he'd used the stamp was the 24th of February 2012, a year and five months ago. The man noticed.  
  
"You don't loan stuff often?" He asked.  
  
Castiel blushed and relayed the 'Fifty Shades of Grey' story as he stuck the bookshop's sticker in the fronts of the books and stamped the date and date of return.  
  
"Ahh," the man chuckled. "Okay... I promise I won't jack off to 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar'!"  
  
"That would be much appreciated," Castiel grinned, his blush subsiding. He felt at ease with this man. He handed him the stack of books which the man put carefully into the guitar case on his back, something Castiel hadn't previously noticed.  
  
"C'mon munchkin, let's go eat dinner," he called to the little girl. She shook her head and buried herself deeper in the tangle of multi-coloured blankets.  
  
"Kids, huh?" The man sighed. "You got any?"  
  
Castiel shook his head. "Is she yours?" He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
The man tensed. "Yes," he replied tersely. Castiel winced, wishing he'd held his tongue.  
  
"I - I'm sorry, I just - you -" Cas stuttered nervously.  
  
"Don't look the type?" He interrupted. "Yeah I get that a lot."  
  
Castiel's cheeks reddened. "Please forgive me," he uttered, embarrassed. "I'm very sorry." Their eyes met.  
  
The uncomfortable look on the man's face faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Don't be," he smiled. "Forget it happened."  
  
They paused, both turning to watch the toddler squeal and dive into the pile of blankets.  
  
"How old is she?"  
  
"Three and a bit," the man replied, a proud hint to his voice. "Her name's Elsie."  
  
"What a lovely name," Castiel replied. "I'm Castiel."  
  
"Castiel..." the man said slowly. Castiel savoured the man's voice tasting every letter of his name. "I'm Dean."  
  
They smiled, an awkward silence descending upon them. To break it, Castiel pointed to Dean's left bicep. "What happened?"  
  
"Oh, nothing happened. I'm getting a tattoo finished. It's a solar system going around my arm but I haven't got it coloured yet. I'm going back on Monday to get it finished," Dean explained.  
  
Castiel didn't really know what to say. "That sounds, um, interesting."  
  
Dean snorted, amused. "That's what people say when they don't like something."  
  
"No no no, I'm sure it will be amazing. I've never had a tattoo though, so I'm really out of my depth here," Castiel hurried, trying to salvage the conversation.  
  
"You've never even thought about it?" Dean asked.  
  
"Honestly, I haven't. Why?"  
  
"There's this great place about ten minutes from here called Bradbury's Body Art. I could get you a discount if you wanted," Dean offered, an open smile on his freckled face.  
  
Castiel felt his cheeks heat up again. "And why would you do that?"  
  
Then, without missing a beat, Dean said, "Because, I like the look of you, Castiel." He placed extra emphasis on Castiel's name, letting it roll slowly off his tongue. He smirked and turned to pick his daughter up from the mountain of blankets, tucking her under his tattooed arm, the one without the bandage. He nodded a goodbye as he pushed open the door. The bell rang loudly. "See you in a week, _Castiel._ "  
  
Castiel frowned. "But the books aren't due for a month," he called as Dean left the shop.  
  
Seconds later, Dean's head peeked through the slowly closing door. Warm, slanted light pooled in the doorway. "Who says I don't want to see you earlier?" He grinned, leaving Castiel, open mouthed and stunned into silence, listening to the ring of the bell in the warm summer evening.


	2. "You called me Cas...?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Elsie visit the bookshop a week later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [MrSandman](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSandman/pseuds/MrSandman) and [brokenncastiel](http://brokenncastiel.tumblr.com/).

As promised, Dean and Elsie walked into Castiel's bookshop exactly a week later. They had come straight from their weekly Saturday lunch at Sam and Jess's house, which had been lovely as usual. Strangely, they hadn't gone through as much beer as they usually did and there were two bottles left in the cooler bag Dean was carrying in his right hand. Holding Elsie's hand with his left, and with his guitar on his back, Dean had nowhere to put the four books they had loaned from Castiel the previous week. Dean hoped the librarian didn't mind that his books were a little chilly.  
  
The bell tinkled as they entered. Castiel looked up and their eyes met across the shabby room. Dean's heart fluttered. Maybe he hadn't really paid attention last week, but Castiel was _gorgeous._ His eyes seemed brighter than before (but maybe that was due to the large mug of coffee on his desk) and his hair was gently spiked with gel, achieving that messy, "this-took-twenty-minutes-to-style" look.  
  
"Hello Dean," Castiel said. His gravelly voice made Dean positively shiver.  
  
Dean walked up to the desk, pulling the books out of the cooler. "Hey Castiel. Sorry the books are a bit cold; we were at my brother's for lunch."  
  
"That's fine. How was the lunch?" Castiel asked.  
  
"It was great. Actually, I have a couple left over beers," Dean said, taking the two bottles out of the bag and putting them on the reception desk. "Want one?"  
  
"Oh...umm...really?" Castiel blushed.  
  
Dean nodded. He leant over and opened the bottles with the silver bottle-opener ring he wore on his first finger. Castiel looked pleasantly surprised at how smooth Dean seemed. (Dean was trembling inside, but no one needed to know that.)  
  
"Okay," The other man smiled, taking the beer from Dean's hand. Their fingers brushed and Dean could have sworn that the other man let his hand linger for a little longer than necessary. Not that he minded.  


Dean opened a second beer and took a sip, grinning as Elsie dived into the mountain of blankets in the kids' corner. She seemed to be more interested in the furnishings rather than the books, but she was only three years old. 

He glanced over and saw, out of the corner of his eye, Castiel folding over the corner of the page of his book.

"Woah! Hey! Cas! What'cha doing? You dog-ear your books?" Dean implored, a certain urgency to his voice.

Castiel looked up, frowning. "Yes, I see nothing wrong with it, as long as the page is folded back and isn't damaged. I like books that look ... well-read."

Dean caught himself and lowered his voice. "Sorry, I just never took you to be the type. Librarians always seem to have their heads up their asses when it comes to books."

"Firstly, I'm not a librarian; I'm a bookshop owner. And secondly, you are being rather hypocritical," argued Castiel, smirking. And did he just _bat his eyelashes_? That must have been Dean's imagination.

Dean huffed. "True, true. We had a lot of old books around when I was a kid and my dad was very strict about treating them with respect."

"I think well-read books look the best. They look ... loved," Castiel reasoned.

"So well-loved is okay, but not well-masturbated to?" Dean chuckled. He picked up 'A Very Hungry Caterpillar' from the desk and winked.

"That I like less," Castiel laughed awkwardly. Then, "Umm... you called me Cas...?"

Dean stumbled over his words, feeling like a fool. "Y-yeah.... Is that okay? I mean I can stop doing it if you don't like it, I -"

"Dean," Castiel said reassuringly, sipping his beer. "It's fine. I like it. My older brother Balthazar calls me Cassie but, Cas is much _much_ better."

"Huh... I had a girlfriend called Cassie once." Dean regretted the words the moment they left his lips. 

His gaydar was usually strong, if he was being modest. He had caught Cas staring a couple of times, flirting almost, if you could call it that. But talking about his ex Cassie might have made Cas think he wasn't interested in men. In Castiel, more specifically. Not that he wanted to hint at anything. Not at all. Definitely not.

In a desperate attempt to put right a comment that Cas probably barely even noticed, Dean mumbled, "I like your hair." He didn't even think about it. It was like, around Cas, he had no mouth-filter whatsoever. He cringed.

"What?" Cas questioned, cocking his head and squinting a little. 

"Nothing, nothing," Dean said quickly, ears turning red. Hopefully Cas hadn't heard. _What an idiot, ___he thought.

Cas decided to drop it, but he was blushing and grinning from ear to ear, so Dean wondered if maybe he had heard after all. In any case, Castiel did have the sexiest hair he had seen in a long time.

Dean took a long swig of beer and sighed, fiddling with silver band on his ring finger. It had been almost two years since he'd lost Lisa to a round of bullets: Kevlar can only do so much. But that was part of the risk, wasn't it? Marrying a cop, let alone an FBI agent, was never going to be injury free, but they'd never expected it to happen to them. No one ever expects it to happen to them. Elsie had been just sixteen months old.

It wasn't too soon to move on. Some people didn't even wait a year. But then again, some people waited ten. It wasn't like Dean was _waiting ___for a socially acceptable amount of time to pass before he asked Castiel out, it was just that he wasn't sure if he was ready.

And if Cas said yes, which Dean hoped to God he would, he wasn't sure if he would want all the baggage Dean carried. Pierced, tattooed and practically broke, mentally-wobbly widowers with three year old daughters are hardly in high demand.

If Dean's gaydar was correct and Cas was indeed gay, Dean assumed he would go for the type of guy who was intellectual - someone who read, and who wasn't a high school dropout who only entered a bookshop to rent picture books for his daughter.

And with that name, Castiel, he was probably religious. Dean didn't know much about religion; the only praying to God he did was when he was alone with his right hand and a copy of 'Busty Asian Beauties', but hanging out in Bradbury's Body Art Shop had taught him a thing or two about religion. He was pretty sure Castiel was the name of an angel, as was the name Balthazar (people loved religious tattoos, so he'd picked up a rudimentary knowledge of the Bible). Dean didn't have anything against religious people, but he figured Cas would never go for a guy like him.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Cas's husky voice pulled him out of his daydream.

"Huh?" Dean grunted.

"It's an expression, it means-" explained Cas.

"I know what it means," Dean snapped. _Shit._ Dean was so used to people assuming that because more of his skin was inked than not, and he had enough piercings to fill a jewellery shop, that he was also stupid. It had become a reflex reaction to act rudely, something that Dean was not proud of. "Sorry," he muttered. 

"There's no need to apologise, Dean," Cas said reassuringly. 

"Anyway, I got carried away thinking," Dean explained. _About you, ___he added silently. Dean left that conversation there, hoping Cas would take the hint that he really, really wasn't ready to talk about his feelings.

"Please don't worry about it," Cas smiled, draining the beer bottle and setting it on the desk. To rekindle the slowly drying conversation, Cas asked, "So, how was your July 4th?" The celebration had been on Thursday.

"It was awesome," Dean replied. "We went to my brother's for a barbecue and sparklers by the pool. Munchkin here loved it, didn't you Elsie?"

Elsie looked up from her picture book which she was 'reading' upside down. "Yeah Daddy," she giggled.

"You do anything nice?" Dean asked, hoping, willing, that Cas wasn't going to mention a boyfriend, or girlfriend, with whom he'd spent Independence Day. Until now, it hadn't even crossed his mind that Cas might have a significant other.

"It was alright, thank you. My brother is a baker so we made some flag cupcakes to hand around to children in the neighbourhood. After that, we just went back to his apartment, drank a lot of beer with his girlfriend and watched the fireworks."

"So you can cook huh? I like a man who's good in the kitchen," Dean flirted.

"Ah well," Cas confessed, "When I said 'we' made cupcakes, what I really meant was Gabriel, my brother, did all the complicated procedures, and I floated around licking the bowls and eating the decorations."

Dean licked his lips and raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Sounds like my kind of baking."

"I'm still a wizard in the kitchen though, don't get too turned off," Cas retorted.

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked teasingly.

Cas grinned. "Sure. I make a great microwave lasagne."

They both laughed

"So, is this Gabriel older or younger?" Asked Dean.

"Two years younger."

"Yeah? My brother Sammy's four years younger. Pain in the ass, they are, little brothers," Dean grinned.

Cas laughed. "Yes, he is a ... pain in my ass." The phrase didn't slip off Cas's tongue very easily. "He is constantly pulling pranks and pestering me to get a boyfriend, but he does make delicious brownies so I keep him around."

Dean had stopped listening after the word 'boyfriend.' So Cas was gay. Single. Perfect. Dean hadn't yet worked up the courage to do anything about those facts, but they sure were nice to know.


	3. "I just needed to tell someone."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets lonely without Dean and Gabriel calls his brother after a break up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit NSFW
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Castiel woke to the soft, mid-July sunlight streaming through his window.  
  
He groaned. It was way too early to get up, and he reminded himself yet again to buy a blind for his bedroom. Personally, he was more of a curtain person (blinds always seemed too medical), but he lived in the attic above his bookshop, so blinds were the only option for the slanted windows.  
  
He reached sleepily for his phone. It was seven a.m. He groaned again and buried his face in his pillow.  
  
When he woke next, it was nine; a more acceptable hour. He made himself a quick breakfast and had a shower before going downstairs and opening the shop for nine thirty.  
  
Over his large latte which he made using the coffee machine on the reception desk, he realised it was Saturday, which meant Dean would be here at about five in the evening, if the last two weeks were anything to go by. Only six and a half hours to wait.  
  
Once fully awake, he set about tidying the shop. He hoovered, humming along to some Elvis song he had stuck in his head. He organised books that people hadn't put back in the correct places and dug into a huge cardboard box of the latest bestsellers, which he'd ordered last week and failed to unpack. He tidied the kids' corner and fluffed up the beanbags, smiling at the fact that in six hours, Elsie would mess them up again. Provided she and Dean turned up. Castiel could only hope.  
  
Customers started to trickle in at eleven a.m. By twelve, he'd had a quiet teenage girl who had bought a John Green book, and a young couple with a toddler who went wild in the kids' section. They'd browsed the cookbooks and books on raising children, but ended up walking out empty handed, wishing Castiel a nice day.  
  
At two, a man in his sixties made a beeline for the history section and buried himself in a book about the Vietnam War for a good two hours, before he bought a stack of books on the topic and left.  
  
Castiel had even closed for half an hour at one p.m. to make himself a bowl of pasta. Business was so slow that he figured it wouldn't make a difference. Bookshops, sadly, weren't what they used to be. Curse those stupid Kindles and the goddamn Internet.  
  
By five p.m., he was at his desk, waiting anxiously for Dean and Elsie. A novel was open on his desk, but he was barely taking in a word. He kept glancing up at the door, hoping for that tinkle of a bell.  
  
Six o'clock came and went, and to soothe his restlessness, he tidied the already immaculate shop and hummed along to his iPod. Seven was his usual closing time, but he stayed open until half past, before realising it was probably Elsie's bedtime and Dean wouldn't be coming at all today.  
  
Despite only having met Dean twice before, Castiel was incredibly downhearted that Dean had not shown up. He missed Dean's hearty laugh and sparkly eyes. He glanced around his frankly quite drab bookshop and longed for the brightly coloured, elaborately detailed tattoos and the piercings that shone and glinted and sparkled like their owner's eyes.  
  
To cheer himself up, he locked up the shop and padded upstairs in his mismatched woollen socks - shoes were so overrated. He selected a DVD ('BBC Sherlock Season 1'), put it in his laptop, and resolved to admire the cheekbones of the consulting detective instead of the biceps of the man on whom he was quickly developing the biggest crush of his entire lifetime.  
  
When he had finished the first episode, he put on some music and started to make himself dinner. He wasn't the greatest chef, but he could whip up some scrambled egg and buttered toast. So what if it was breakfast food? Gabriel had taught him an thing or two about baking, but Castiel had yet to master the art of making something sweet and simultaneously edible. Dinners; now they were another issue entirely.  
  
After his eggs, watered the terrariums he kept in old jam jars on the kitchen windowsill. Then he picked up a pencil and sketchbook and started doodling. He'd been thinking about what Dean had said, regarding his ignorance on tattoos, the first time they'd met: "You've never even thought about it?" He'd said it incredulously, as if everyone thought about getting a tattoo.  
  
As soon as Dean had uttered those words however, tattoos (his own speculative ones, but more specifically, Dean's) were all that was on Castiel's mind. If given the opportunity, he could stare at Dean's for days. He wasn't one hundred percent sure he wanted a tattoo himself, but it didn't hurt to draw out a few ideas on paper.  
  
A good hour or so later, he had three full pages of detailed drawings, most of them coloured and some even draw on body parts so he could imagine what it would look like on himself.  
  
Then he had the idea to pick up a sharpie from the coffee table in the living room and sketch a couple of his ideas onto his skin, loving the way that when he flex his muscles, the picture rippled. He imagined Dean's muscles rippling under his impressive tattoos and felt the denim of his skinny jeans tighten.  


Breathing heavily, he unzipped his fly and palmed himself through the fabric of his underpants. Then, craving more, he hurried to his bedroom and stripped until he was naked from the waist down. He sat on his futon, (which was just as comfortable as a normal mattress. He much preferred futons, despite the endless teasing he got from Gabriel for being too 'hipster') and took himself in his hand, stroking it with practiced skill. He was just reaching for the bottle of lube that he kept in his bedside cabinet when he heard his phone vibrate. He jumped up, eyes wild with excitement, heart thumping in hopes that it was Dean who had texted him. He scrambled for his phone, heart sinking slightly as he read: 

_ << Hey, u awake? <<  
From Gabriel Novak. Received 22:32 ___

**_ >> Yes >>  
To Gabriel Novak. Sent 22:32 ___**

__It dawned on him that he and Dean had never exchanged numbers; something he resolved to fix as soon as possible. Seconds later:__

_ << Something happened can I call u? <<  
From Gabriel Novak. Received 22:32 ___

Worried, he called his younger brother, Dean totally forgotten.

"Gabriel, is everything okay?" Gabriel didn't really go for calling people, unless of course it was a prank call, so Castiel was worried.  
  
Castiel heard a sniff. _"Kali broke up with me. I didn't know who else to call."_  
  
Kali and Gabriel had been going out for years. It must have been nearing their fifth anniversary and Castiel knew his little brother had been thinking about proposing.  
  
"Oh Gabriel... I'm so sorry. Do you want me to come over and keep you company?" Cas asked lovingly.  
  
Gabriel hesitated. _"No... I'd - I'd rather be alone for a bit, if that's okay."_  
  
"Of course it's okay." Cas replied. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"  
  
Another sniff. _"Umm... no. I want to go to sleep-"_ he heard a muffled sob _"- I just needed to tell someone."_ Gabriel was full on crying now.  
  
"Okay. Splash some cold water on your face and get some rest, alright? Call me if you need anything."  
  
_"Mmm-hmm"_ Gabriel sniffed, and hung up.  
  
His mood thoroughly dampened, Cas stripped and got into bed, reminding himself to ask Dean for his number the next time they met.

 


	4. "We have something big to tell you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday brings band practice, lunch with Sam and Jess and very exciting news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Dean woke to a small bounce and little hands hitting his legs.

"Daddy daddy daddy!" Squealed Elsie, bouncing on the bed again. 

Bleary-eyed, Dean pulled her into a hug. "Morning Pumpkin. Did you sleep well?" 

She nodded. "Hungry."

"Okay let's go have breakfast, yeah?" Dean smiled, sitting up and running his hands through his hair. "What do you want to eat?"

"Nut- Nutella, she bounced on the bed again. 

"All by itself?" 

The toddler nodded confidently.

"You can't have Nutella _all_ by itself, silly! But does Nutella on _toast ___sound good?"

"Sound good," Elsie repeated and Dean picked her up off the bed and tickled her tummy all the way to the kitchen, delighting in her happy giggles. 

Breakfast was a sticky affair (with copious amounts of coffee on Dean's part) and Dean plonked them both in the bath afterwards. 

Clean, dry and dressed, they played with Elsie's toy train set. A train collision was just about to occur when the doorbell rang. It was Benny, coming to give him a lift to band practice. The tiny people of Elsie-Ville's railway were saved. 

"Morning," Benny drawled, bending down so Elsie could hug him and trace her little fingers along the tattoos on his neck. 

"Morning? I've been up for hours!" Dean examined. "Monster here had me up at six!" 

"Sucks to be you," Benny grinned, showing his tongue piercing. "You ready to go?" 

Dean had completely lost track of time. It was ten already. "Urgh... gimee five." He ran to his bedroom, shouting, "There's coffee in the pot if you want some." 

Quickly, he slicked some gel through his hair and put in some earrings that were just too spiky to sleep in. (He was in a rock band for a reason.) The studs in his collarbone and hipbones were already in as they were only six months old and not sturdy enough to be taken out overnight. 

His hands expertly steady, he lined his eyes with black kohl, before slinging his guitar over his back and rushing back to the hallway to put his Doc Martens on. 

"Sorry, we lost track of time. Elsie babe can you get your shoes on?" 

"Already done," Benny replied as Elsie came scampering into the hallway, her hair brushed and her shoes on the correct feet, for once. 

"Thanks man. You're so good with her." 

"I try, I try," Benny grinned, sweeping the little girl off her feet and carrying her to his car. He strapped her into the spare car seat which they kept in Benny's car. 

They pulled up at Garth's house right on time. Garth was their drummer and backing vocals, and he had a completely soundproofed garage, kitted out for music making and big enough for the five of them: Dean, Benny, Garth, Adam and Ash. 

Adam, on guitars and vocals, was already there, setting up mics and preparing a large pot of coffee. Garth was in the house, flicking through the channels on the TV so Elsie could watch them with his wife, Bess, while the band was practicing. 

Ash, their pianist, guitarist and backing vocals, was late, as always. His early shift at The Havelle's Roadhouse often ran over. 

Benny and Dean were officially the lead guitarist and lead singer respectively, but they often switched things up for different songs. Together they were The Hunters, and were pretty popular; at least in Lawrence, Kansas and the surrounding neighbourhoods. 

Practice was good, and two and a half hours later, Benny was giving Elsie and Dean a lift to Sam and Jess's house for their weekly lunch together. They lived only twenty minutes away from Garth's. Benny and the other members of The Hunters often ate with the Winchesters after practice. Sam was somewhat famous for his grilled steaks. 

As Benny's black '65 Mustang pulled into Sam and Jess's driveway, Dean longed for his Impala; his baby. She was at Bobby's for a little holiday, saving Dean the money on gas and repairs. He'd been made redundant at his sales job in the local DIY store last month and desperately needed to save cash for when Elsie started preschool in September. 

They got out of the car and walked around the back of the house to the garden, where Dean could already smell Sam grilling the meat. 

Jess was laying the table with a tomato and mozzarella salad, Elsie's favourite, and a large potato salad. 

After lunch, sitting by the pool with a cold coke in one hand and Sam's hand in her other, Jess said quietly, "Dean, Elsie, Benny, we have something big to tell you." 

Panic flickering in Dean's chest, he replied, "Yeah? Everything okay?" 

"Everything's fine," reassured Sam, and the panic subsided. 

"I'm pregnant!" beamed Jess shyly. Dean's heart practically exploded. He jumped up to congratulate her as Benny shook Sam's hand vigorously. 

"Jess this is amazing news!" Cheered Benny. 

"Now Elsie will have a baby cousin!" Dean was ecstatic. "And this explains the coke." Then, remembering Cas, who he couldn't wait to see at five, he said, "And the leftover beer I had last week." 

Sam nodded proudly. 

"How far along are you?" Dean asked. 

"Just over ten weeks. We should have waited until the 12 week marker to tell you, but we couldn't wait any longer," said Jess, smiling and sipping her coke. 

"Ten weeks? It's July the... what the fourteenth? No thirteenth. So _that's ___why you didn't want to go for a beer on your birthday Sammy," Dean said, feigning shock. "Naughty boy!"

Sam turned as red as the tomato salad. Jess giggled, embarrassed. Turning to the toddler, she said, "You want a baby cousin, hey El?" 

"Baby?" she asked, looking around. "Where?" 

Jess pointed to her stomach, which was still flat. "In here."

"In your belly?" 

"Yeah in my belly," Jess replied. 

Elsie shook her head. "No. Babies don't live in bellies. Silly Jessie." 

Everyone laughed. "They do, Sweetie. You were in your mommy's belly once." 

__Elsie screwed up her face in disgust. "No I wasn't."_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__"No!"_ _

__"You're fighting a lost battle there, Jess," piped up Benny._ _

__A lull in conversation brought out more beers, and sodas for Jess and Elsie. Soon, having heard the good news via a text from Dean, the other members of The Hunters arrived, cakes and drinks in tow._ _

__Someone turned on the garden lights and lit candles as it turned dark, and celebrations continued long into the night._ _

__It was only after numerous games of cards and some late night swimming in the pool, that Dean lifted a sleepy Elsie (whom he'd laid down on the spare bed at eight) onto his shoulder and Benny drove them home._ _

__Getting into bed at one a.m., Dean suddenly realised that they had failed to go to see Cas. The cake, alcohol and good-news-induced high quickly faded, and Dean fell asleep feeling quite morose._ _


	5. "Biscuits and Books."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas hang out in the bookshop and Cas helps Gabriel with some problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!
> 
> Trigger warning: mentions of cutting / self harm / self injury in this chapter. 
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury.

At three, when the bell tinkled and the door swung open, Castiel didn't look up. Dean wasn't due for another two hours; that is, if he was coming at all. His heart jolted at the thought of never seeing the tattooed man again.

"Hey," Dean's silky voice cut through the silence. Castiel's head jerked up and he stuttered out a hello.

"You're early," he commented. "I mean, not that you have to always come at five and you've ..." he trailed off, catching Dean's playful eye.

"You're kinda cute when you babble like that," the other man said, placing last week's books on the counter. Colour rushed to Castiel's cheeks.

"I - oh... thanks? um..." He stammered, feeling Dean's intense green eyes on him.

"Jessie sick!" said Elsie loudly from Dean's arms. Dean looked up, away from studying Castiel's face. "Yuck." The little girl made made a face.

At Castiel's confused grunt, Dean explained, "My brother's girlfriend Jess is pregnant and has some serious case of morning-turned-all-day sickness. We left early to give them some space."

"Yuck," Elsie exclaimed again, squirming in Dean's arms until he put her down. She ran over to the beanbags.

"So, um... where -" started Castiel, just as Dean said, "Listen, Cas, I'm sorr-" at the same time.

"You first," Castiel smiled shyly, revelling in the fact that Dean had just called him cute.

"Cas I'm sorry about missing last week. Not that we had a date or anything, I just -" Dean looked up and saw that Castiel was blushing too.

 _A date?_ Thought Castiel. _Oh my God..._

"Anyway," continued Dean quickly, "We'd just got the news that Jess was pregnant and the band got together and we sorta got lost on the celebrations and I forgot - well I didn't forget _you_ of course, I -"

Castiel cut him off. "You are kind of cute when you babble like that, Dean."

They both laughed nervously.

"So... you're in a band?" Castiel asked tentatively, hoping the answer was yes. Somehow, people suddenly got ten times hotter when holding a guitar. And if he could sing...

Castiel's totally not PG rated daydreams were interrupted by Dean, who said, "Yeah, we're called The Hunters." He pointed to the guitar which he had carefully placed on the floor. "I play electric, acoustic, and I sing."

Castiel felt his insides melt. He was suddenly very glad his desk came above crotch level. He blushed, feeling like a teenager again.

"So," shrugged Dean casually, "I'm a whole two hours early... Which means we have a lot of time to ourselves." He winked.

Elsie was happily playing with some stuffed toys in the children's corner. She wasn't going to disturb them any time soon. Castiel's pace quickened at the thought of two extra hours with Dean. Then, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He whipped it out at squinted at the called ID. It was Gabriel. He sighed, frustrated. _So much for alone time with Dean,_ he thought, letting it go to voicemail, then turning his phone off. It was a prank call, and Gabriel would continue calling until Castiel picked up. Gabriel never called anyone unless it was a prank or an -

"Shit."

"Everything okay?" Asked Dean, spinning around from where he was looking at Elsie.

"Shit," Castiel gabbled. "I don't know." He fumbled with his phone, trying to turn it on and redial his brother. Gabriel never called him unless it was a prank. Or an emergency. And Castiel had completely forgotten about Kali.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked again, leaning over the counter. "Can I do anything?"

"It's my brother Gabriel. Fuck! Turn on goddammit!" He hit the phone on the counter. "He's going through a bad breakup and he has a long running history of - Gabriel! Are you okay?" Castiel heard a muffled whimper. "Gabriel?"

_"Yeah?"_

"Are you okay?" Castiel repeated, more slowly this time.

_"I broke it. I broke it! I did seven months clean and I broke it."_ Gabriel's voice wavered.

'Shit,' mouthed Castiel, running a hand through his messy hair. He closed his eyes. "Okay then you start over. It's perfectly fine to fall off the wagon every once in a while, you know that."

The man on the other end of the line sniffed. _"I'm sorry I'm so so sorry."_

"Shh it's alright," soothed his older brother. "You're okay. Do you need to go to hospital?"

 _"No no it's not that deep. I just - I'm sorry."_ Gabriel whimpered again.

"Do you want me to come over?" Castiel asked, biting his lip.

_"No, I'm okay."_

"Okay, if you are sure. Wash and disinfect the cuts and put a bandage on them, and clean the knife and put it somewhere hard to reach. And take-"

_"Right. Bye."_ Gabriel said abruptly, hanging up.

"Wait! Wait! Gabriel!" But his brother was already gone.

Castiel gradually became aware of a hand on his shoulder and he opened his eyes. Dean had come behind the reception desk and was pushing a cup of coffee into his hands. He was glad the coffee machine was so easy to use. He took a big gulp and found that, somehow, Dean had known exactly how Castiel drank his coffee (which was with milk and local honey instead of sugar, because it wasn't guaranteed to be fairtrade). Putting the mug down, he reached to redial his brother, but Dean put a hand on his, shaking his head.

"Give him some space. He has a love-hate relationship with the blades, huh?" Dean whispered, rubbing one hand over his wrists and inner forearms.

"He's not the only one," Castiel muttered, closing his eyes and nursing the warm mug. Later, much later, it would dawn on him that, besides Gabriel, Dean was the only person he'd told about his self harm.

"Oh, Cas..." Dean moved closer, seemingly wanting to hug him.

Castiel panicked and turned away, walking around the reception desk to sit on the old leather sofa in the corner. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled as Dean followed and sat down next to him.

"That's okay. Me neither," Dean admitted in a quiet voice, still rubbing his arms. The tattoo sleeves were colourful and elaborate, but now that Castiel looked properly, he saw numerous white scars hiding underneath. He felt the bile rise in his throat was was suddenly glad for his long sleeves; even if he was always uncomfortably sticky in the July heat. He was glad his bookshop and apartment had AC.

"'M Sorry." Castiel turned his cell phone nervously in his hand, berating himself ruining the mood.

Dean took the phone from him. "Don't be." He opened 'Contacts', pressed the '+' button and added his name and number. Then he tapped the 'Messages' icon, typed out 'hey sexy', and sent the message to himself. "If you ever need someone to talk to," he explained, "I'm here. Always." He handed the phone back to Castiel.

Castiel let out a watery laugh and mumbled a flustered thank you. Dean's phone dinged and he wriggled on the sofa, trying to extract it from his black skinny jeans. He showed Castiel the 'hey sexy' message.

"You think I'm sexy?" Dean asked, fake surprised. Castiel giggled - oh god he _giggled_ \- as Dean typed something else.

 _ << hey yourself <<_  
_From Dean. Received 15:21_

Castiel tapped out a reply:

 ** _ >> You can't call /yourself/ sexy, only someone else can. >>  
To Dean. Sent 15:21_**

Dean chortled. "Well go on then."

"Go on what?"

"Call me sexy," said Dean in a sultry voice.

Castiel paused. Could sexy even begin to describe Dean?

Dean huffed, faking hurt. "I see how it is, _sexy_." He let the last word hang in the air.

**_ >> What in the world do you find sexy about me? >>  
To Dean. Sent 15:22_**

Castiel asked, feeling more at ease now he was typing and not talking. The thorny prickling of his wrists and inner forearms began to fade as he relaxed.

 _ << man... idk thats really hard... <<_  
_From Dean. Received 15:22_

_ << your bed hair, your laugh, your eyes <<_  
_From Dean. Received 15:22_

Castiel blushed, his heart glowing. His phone buzzed again.

 _ << that cute 5oclock shadow, your hipster odd socks, your scarf even tho its july <<_  
_From Dean. Received 15:22_

"Forget I even asked," laughed Castiel, now feeling slightly embarrassed. But Dean was still typing and grinning from one pierced ear to the other.

 _ << and btw your ass looks awesome in those jeans <<_  
_From Dean. Received 15:22_

When Castiel read the message, they both laughed. When silence fell, Dean placed a hand on Castiel's thigh. The librarian's heart thumped at the comforting gesture.

"How are you?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine, thank you," Castiel replied, maybe a little too eagerly.

"I'm serious."

Castiel sighed. "You want to hear my problems?" 

"Of course," Dean nodded. 

"Okay, um ... well, business is kind of bad. You're the first customer I've had today."

The other man grimaced.

"And I had to help my brother Gabriel sell his bakery because Kali, his ex, owns it and she won't let him keep the building. She would like to turn it into a beauty salon, apparently."

Dean looked horrified. "Wait, Trickster Treats is closing? That is Gabriel's shop, right?"

"Yes. Have you ever been inside?"

"Once or twice. His stuff's awesome but a little out of my price range," Dean said, flushing red. He always seemed to get embarrassed when talking about money, Castiel had noticed. "Sammy always has something from there when we go round to his place on Saturday. He's a lawyer; he can afford nice cakes." Dean paused, prying the near empty mug from Castiel's hands and taking a swig. "It's such a shame Gabriel has to close it."

"I know, shitty, isn't it?" Castiel nodded. He took the mug back and finished the coffee, licking his lips.

Dean swallowed, still red. "Um, Cas? Elsie's at that parrot stage, so no swearing around her, capisce?"

"Shit!" It just slipped out. Castiel couldn't help it. "Fuck!" Castiel stopped himself, and said slowly and carefully, "I'm sorry. I will try not to swear." Dean was in fits of laughter.

Conversation progressed to books (they found they were both massive 'Lord of the Rings' fans), but halfway through an argument about who was more attractive; Aragorn or Legolas, Dean said, "Hold up. Can't you and your brother join forces? Make this place a bookshop with a side of cafe?"

Castiel's face lit up. "That," he beamed, "is an amazing idea! Lawrence Bookshop and Cafe."

"No..." Dean mused. "What's your surname?"

"Novak," Castiel replied.

"Novak's Cakes and Books?" Pondered Dean.

"No. Novak's Biscuits and Books."

"Too wordy," countered Dean. "Just Biscuits and Books."

"Biscuits and Books... I like it," smiled Castiel. "I'll text Gabriel."

Minutes later, his phone vibrated and the bell above the door dinged. Two teenage girls walked in, browsed for about ten seconds, then walked out.

"Now I see what you mean when you say business is bad," commented Dean, as Castiel read the text from his younger brother, which said:

 _ << Fantastic idea bro <<_  
_From Gabriel Novak. Received 16:19_

Castiel groaned. "Bad? Dean this is terrible."

"You could give this place a makeover?" Dean suggested.

"I know," Castiel lamented. "But I'm out of new ideas."

Dean practically jumped off the sofa. "Out of ideas?" He exclaimed. "Are you crazy? A bookshop has the best interior decorating potential I can think of!"

Excited, Castiel said, "Okay... Shoot; as you would say."

Dean smirked and talked decorating ideas until six o'clock came around and Elsie demanded dinner.


	6. "I have a surprise for you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean brings a surprise for Cas and Benny has a surprise for Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Five o'clock next Saturday came and went, and Dean started to worry that Cas might think he wouldn't show up. He'd had a hectic day. Benny was sick, so band practice hadn't been all that successful without their lead guitarist. After a lunch spoiled by Elsie’s temper tantrums and cut short by Jess's morning sickness, Dean had taken the bus to Bobby's so he could pick up the Impala. Then he'd driven all the way back to Garth's to pick up the surprise he had for Cas.

At six, he got a text from Cas asking where they were, and berated himself for forgetting they'd exchanged numbers. They arrived soon afterwards, and Elsie immediately collapsed on the beanbags, tired after a day of trekking across town.

“I was beginning to think you’d left me,” teased Cas as Dean sat down heavily on the worn leather sofa. Cas moved around behind the reception desk, pulling out two mugs and holding up a box of tea for Dean’s approval. Dean nodded. Cas was such a hipster, and he loved it.

“Does it make it better if I say I have a surprise for you?” Asked Dean.

“A surprise? Really?” Cas’s eyes glinted in the evening sunlight as he poured the hot drinks.

Dean nodded, excited. “But first get your ass over here and bring me my tea.”

Cas joined him on the sofa and handled Dean a mug which he cradled. The tea was loose-leafed, of course. Dean didn't expect Cas went for conventional tea bags. Relaxing for the first time that day, Dean asked how Cas’s week had been.

“Fine thank you,” was the brief reply. “What’s the surprise?”

“It’s a surprise,” Dean replied. “Let me finish my tea.”

But Cas was like a five year old Christmas Day and would not give up, so Dean left his half-finished tea in Cas’s other hand and stepped outside the door. He hauled in two large beanbags. Cas’s jaw dropped and his face lit up. Dean’s heart thumped proudly.

“For me? For Biscuits and Books?”  


Dean nodded, cracking a smile. “And there’s more in the car.”  


“More?” Cas put the teas on the reception desk out of the way. “Let me help you.”  


Checking that Elsie was well and truly asleep and could be left alone for a minute, they went outside. Dean watched Cas’s face dance with excitement again.  


“’64 Chevrolet Impala?” He asked.  


“Close. Baby’s a ’67,” Dean said proudly, opening the door and revelling in the squeaking sound it made. “I didn’t take you to be a car guy.”  


“I’m not. My brother Balthazar is fan of muscle cars,” Cas explained. “He used to go on and on about wanting a 1960’s Chevy Impala.”  


“He taught you well,” Dean praised. Then, reaching inside, he said “There are four more beanbags and two armchairs.”  


Cas looked awestruck. The two men dragged them inside, and, as there was no room downstairs, they heaved them up the steep stairs to Cas’s apartment. Dean couldn’t quite believe that he was in Cas’s house. He was actually _in_ Castiel’s apartment.  


Cas lived in half of the attic space above the shop. There was a roomy, sparsely decorated bedroom with a futon, wardrobe, and a large pile of books and CDs on the bedside table. There was an ensuite bathroom with a toilet and roomy shower, and a locked door to an unused staircase. They dumped all of the beanbags in the corner of Cas's bedroom. The two brightly upholstered armchairs were placed in the open plan living room.  


“I love your apartment,” Dean blurted out nervously, hoping he wasn’t being too weird.  


“Thank you Dean.”

“What’s in there?” He asked, pointing to the closed, locked door which was at one end of Cas’s apartment.  


“Oh that’s storage from the previous owner. It contains hundreds of very old very dusty books that I have never had a chance to go through. I was thinking of clearing it out for Gabriel though, as Kali, his ex-girlfriend is kicking him out of their house too.”  


“Poor guy. When does she want him out?” Dean questioned, hoping he could offer to help clear out the other side of the attic. It wasn’t the most enjoyable of jobs, but it would mean more time around Cas, that’s for sure.  


“By the end of August. It’s taking a month because Gabriel also has to move his kitchen which has really expensive professional kit which Kali bought for him, and he has to get it moved very carefully by experts.”  


“I can help if you want,” Dean offered, hoping, _praying_ Cas would say yes. “With cleaning the attic I mean. And giving the whole of downstairs a makeover.”  


Cas beamed; the prospect of spending more time with the other man obviously dawning on him. “That would be very nice Dean. I’ll pay you of course.”  


Dean started to protest, but Cas cut him off. “You said yourself that money is a problem for you at the moment, and you’re helping me do a major DIY job.” Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Cas said, “Please, Dean. Let me help.”  


Dean sighed. He wasn’t yet used to talking comfortably about money and his lack of it. “Okay,” he complied, embarrassed, though rather relived that there would be extra dollars in the bank.  


“Speaking of which, let me reimburse you for the beanbags and chairs.”  


Dean shook his finger. “Nah-uh. No need. The armchairs were from my friend Garth - they were collecting dust in his garage, and the beanbags were from a clearance sale. I got all six of them for ten bucks.”  


“I’ll still pay you back,” Cas said as they walked back downstairs. And Dean didn’t doubt that he would.  


Dean checked on Elsie, who was still fast asleep. Then his cell phone rang as Cas was locking up the shop.  


“Benny? You good?” Dean asked as he heard the remnants of a coughing fit.  


Benny’s voice was hoarse. _“Dean!”_ He spluttered. _“We got signed! Mills Record Company signed us!”_  


“W-We got a record deal?” Dean said incredulously, his mouth falling open. “Holy shit! That’s _awesome_! Benny we’re awesome! We are awesome! Does everyone else know?”  


_“Yeah I called you last.”_ Benny chuckled wetly.  


“You little bastard,” Dean laughed. He heard Benny break into another coughing fit. “Hey, uh, get some sleep brother,” he said fondly, hanging up.  


“Congratulations,” smiled Cas.  


“Oh my God we have a _record deal!_ ” Dean shouted, jumping up and down. He turned to hug Cas, wrapping his strong arms around the other man in a tight embrace.  


“D-Dean… Can’t… breathe!” Choked Cas. Dean loosened his grip as Cas looked up at the taller man. Their lips strayed dangerously close to one another’s. His heart fluttered and Dean closed his eyes, leaning forward. They heard Elsie whine and start to wake up.  


Cas, eyes wide open, pushed away, mumbling, “Sorry, ‘m sorry.”  


They were both beetroot red. Dean’s heavy breathing and Elsie’s tired babbling permeated the silence. Avoiding eye contact with Cas, Dean moved over to his daughter.  


“Hey Baby! Sorry I woke you, daddy was just excited because he and Benny and Garth and Ash and Adam got signed a _record deal_! Ain’t that _awesome_?”  


“That’s _awesome_ ,” Elsie repeated sleepily.  


“I know, Baby,” Dean smiled. “Awesome.” He kissed her on her forehead as she snuggled back under the blankets on the beanbags and cushions in the kids’ corner. He sat there for a minute or two, staring lovingly at his baby girl as she fell back to sleep.  


“Does this call for a beer?” Asked Cas from behind him, coming down the stairs with two bottles.  


Dean cocked an eyebrow. “You know me too well…”  


They sat side by side on the sofa, watching Elsie murmur and wriggle in her sleep.  


“So, is the band a full time thing?” Cas asked, picking at the cuffs on his jumper.  


“Not really. We get together on Saturday mornings and all day Wednesday, but we all have other jobs we need to do. I’m training to be a tat’ artist at Bradbury’s where Benny – our lead guitarist who’s coughing up his lungs – works.” Cas nodded, interested. “Also my friend Bobby owns this car repair place, Singer Salvage Yard, in west Lawrence? I do a bit of mechanical work there too when I can, and odd jobs around town when I’ve got the time.”  


“That’s a lot to do,” remarked Cas. “I could never do so many things.”  


“You could. If you needed too,” Dean said.  


There was a small pause before Cas brought up the subject they’d both been carefully dancing around. “Listen… um… Dean, I’m sorry about ... the kis-”  


“Cas it’s fine. My fault. Forget it. We’re good.”  


“Okay…” Cas shifted awkwardly on the sofa.  


“Change the subject?” Dean asked.  


Cas nodded, “Change the subject,” he confirmed, but they sat in silence for moments too long with nothing to say. Dean bit his lip.  


Discontent with sleeping on a beanbag, Elsie woke up again and let out a small wail, breaking the tension silence. Dean moved to get up, but Cas stopped him, saying, “I’ll get her.” He handed Dean his beer and Dean watched in awe as his usually stranger-shy, grumpy-when-tired toddler let Cas cuddle her, kiss her hair and soothe her back to sleep.  


“You’re good at that,” he whispered, taking another gulp of beer as Cas sat back down quietly.  


“Yeah well.” Cas smiled sadly, taking his own beer of Dean’s hands. “I’ve had practice.”  


“Really?” Asked Dean, expecting to hear of a niece or nephew or baby cousin that Cas used to take care of. Instead, Castiel shut off, seeming to regret ever opening his mouth.  


“It’s a long story,” apologised Cas.  


“I’ve got time.”  


“I – Dean, I’ve never told anyone else before.”  


“That’s okay, you don’t have to say,” replied Dean, curious, but respecting Cas’s privacy. “More beer?” He asked, changing the subject.  


“Definitely.”


	7. "He tried to kiss me yesterday."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas talks to Balthazar and helps Gabriel move to his apartment. They talk about Dean and love-struck Cas ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Usually Castiel, or Cas, as Dean called him, (he was slowly getting used to referring to himself as Cas) didn't open the bookshop on a Sunday. Resting on Sundays was a habit he'd picked up from his religious childhood, that somehow got carried over into his adult life. Today, however, he stayed open until lunchtime; having not much to do and desperately wanting the money to for when he was going to give the place a makeover. 

Having nothing to do, he tidied. He did that a lot, it seemed. With the place spotless, he watched a bit of 'Doctor Who', read seven chapters of his book and sifted through his unread post, which contained a postcard from his older brother Balthazar. It read:

_'Dear Cassie,_  
_I'm in London - but you know that already, I've been here for a while now - and I'm loving it. The people, the food and the sex are great, but sadly no one seems up for a _ménage à trois_ , let alone one _à douze_. Anyway, I have some fantastic news which I want to tell you in person (or the closest we can achieve with this distance between us - Skype is amazing isn't it?)_  
_Is everything good in the land of Dorothy and Toto? Got yourself a boyfriend yet?_  
_Talk soon,_  
_B.'_

London... Cas had never been to London. Last month, his brother had been in Beijing, and before that, somewhere in New Zealand. He was a journalist and a good one at that, so he got to travel lots, making guest appearances on different news channels.

Picking up his phone, he called Balthazar on Skype.

 _"Heeeeey Cassie,"_ said Balthazar, his face appearing on Cas's phone. He was holding a glass of champagne, a nearly empty bottle on the bedside table next to him. He appeared to be sitting in bed with a semi naked woman next to him. Cas chose to ignore her. _"How's life?"_

"Hi Balthazar. Life's good," replied Cas. 

_"Sex life?"_ Asked his brother. 

"Awful." Cas shifted the conversation, "So what's the great news?"

 _"I got offered a job. Promotion,"_ he said, his words slurring slightly. _"And not just any job, mind you, Cas,”_ he grinned toothily, _“Chief Foreign Affairs Correspondent for the BBC!"_

"That's amazing, congratulations," smiled Cas, trying to ignore the woman in the left of the screen who was stroking his brother's shoulder.

 _"Sooo.... I'm celebrating..."_ Balthazar practically sung, moving his phone to show him the woman next to him. _"This is Bela.... she's Chief Poli - Political Correspondent for the UK."_ He said the long words very slowly and carefully.

 _"Hi Castiel,"_ she said in a heavy London accent, licking her lips and batting her eyelids.

"I'm guessing I'll see a lot more of you on TV then?" Cas asked, ignoring Bela.

 _"Sure, but only if you watch BBC America or BBC World News... but-but you only watch those awful hiiiiipster channels don't you?"_ Balthazar slurred and Cas looked sheepish. Balthazar glanced at Bela suggestively. _"Anyway I have some seeeerious celebrating to do so...."_

"I'll leave you to it," Cas said, disgusted at the thought.

_"Bye Cassie,"_ his elder brother winked as Bela's lips met with his. 

"Bye Balthazar."

They hung up and Cas stared listlessly at the shop door. Needless to say, by one pm, he’d had no customers. What a surprise.

After finishing yet another cup of coffee, he got a text from Gabriel asking for his help packing. Gabriel was planning to move into Cas's apartment by Wednesday and to sleep on the sofa until they cleared out the other half of the attic. When Gabriel texted again with a promise of his famous Oreo cheesecake as a reward, Cas was out of the door like a rocket, relieved to finally get some fresh air.

When he arrived, his younger brother was surrounded by half empty cardboard boxes and a huge pile of well... everything: books, shoes, clothes, CDs, cooking utensils, various souvenirs sent from Balthazar on his travels, a single bed, two armchairs, and an impressive collection of sex toys, of which Castiel knew how to use exactly one. Gabriel was positively bouncing with happiness; but that was always his brother’s way, to hide his pain behind the jokes and smiles.

"Right, clothes in these two, books in this one, cookbooks and cooking utensils here... shoes and coats... and everything else here." Gabriel directed, and they started packing up the boxes. They left the expensive kitchen units to the specialists who were booked for August, and the dismantling of the IKEA furniture to Gabriel and his friends to do the next day, as Cas was more than useless with a screwdriver.

In Gabriel's car, on their second trip bringing boxes to the bookshop, Gabriel asked, "So, big boy, 's'there a man in your life?"

"No," Cas said too quickly. "No no no no."

"One more time and I'll believe you," teased his brother.

Cas shook his head. "No man in my life, I promise."

"Me thinks the lady does protest too much...." Gabriel taunted, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently.

"First of all, it's _doth_ not does, and secondly, no."

Gabriel sighed and mumbled something along the lines of "Fuckin’ nerd." Then, in a sing-song voice, "Why won't you tell me? Are you ashamed of this mystery man?"

"I'm not ashamed," blushed Cas. "He's wonderful, he's gorgeous..." he trailed off, thinking about Dean.

Gabriel slapped the steering wheel in triumph. "Bingo! So there _is_ a guy! Tell me more! What's his name? What does he look like? When will I meet him? When's the engagement party?"

Cas smiled serenely. "His name is Dean and he has a three year old daughter called Elsie. He has lots tattoos and piercings and he's in a band called The Hunters, and he wears a sleeveless leather jacket and ripped black jeans almost every day, and he has this blond hair which he spikes up and these amazing green eyes which -"

"Oh my god you are so in love with him!" Gabriel butted in, staring at Cas's flushed cheeks and shiny eyes. 

"I am not!" Exclaimed Cas, indignant.

"You are! You should turn up at his house, strip naked and do it in his kitchen,” offered Gabriel, rolling his hips suggestively against the leather seats of his car, humming.

“Gabriel!”

“Okay... maybe ask him out first? That is what people do, right?”

"No! Absolutely not. I am not asking him out," Cas shook his head.

Gabriel nodded knowingly. "You will. I bet you twenty bucks you ask him out by September.”

At Cas's awkward silence, Gabriel said, "I've missed something, haven't I? What is it? Spill." 

Cas turned even redder, and whispered, "I bet you thirty dollars that he asks me out first."

Gabriel turned to stare at his older brother, his eyes wide. "Oh! And why would you say that?" The car swerved and the vehicles next to them honked in surprise.

“Eyes on the road, Gabriel!” Cas cried, clutching onto the side of his seat.

“Sorry sorry," Gabriel straightened the car out. "Why would drop-dead-gorgeous Dean-o ask you out first?” Gabriel demanded. 

Cas couldn’t have gotten any more flushed if he’d tried. "Because... he tried to kiss me yesterday,” he mumbled.

And with that news, Gabriel nearly crashed the car.


	8. "Bet you he cries."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets another tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have never had a tattoo. I hope my research pays off!
> 
> Trigger warning: Needles. 
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Tattoo notes: Never get a tattoo you aren't ready to get. They are expensive and painful to get, and expensive and painful to remove. Really not worth the effort if you aren't 100% sure about it. Always get tattoos and piercings in fully qualified, clean parlours. Never do it yourself. An autoclave is a sterilising machine that uses steam and pressure to sterilise equipment.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

_bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

Groaning, Dean felt around his bedside table until he found his alarm clock and hit snooze. He buried his head in his pillow, trying to grasp onto the tail end of his dream. It was six, and Elsie would be up in a few minutes, jumping on his stomach and peppering him with little slobbery kisses. As much as he loved and adored his baby girl, six a.m. was really way too early to wake up. 

What was he dreaming about again? Oh yes, hot sandy beaches, lazy kisses, sexy bookshop owners…

_bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

Dean grumbled into his soft pillow and drew the duvet around him. Just five more minutes. Five more. But three had barely passed before a pattering of tiny feet and babbling of toddler talk woke him and made him smile tiredly into the bedclothes. 

“Hey Pumpkin,” he whispered; voice hoarse with sleep, as she clambered into bed and snuggled up to him, sucking her thumb. He kissed the top of her head and breathed in her smell of baby shampoo. “You sleep okay?” 

“I sleep awesome,” she mumbled into her thumb and Dean chuckled. The alarm interrupted their peaceful silence and Dean sighed. 

“C’mon Princess let’s go get breakfast. Daddy has to go to work soon.” 

“Nana,” Elsie demanded as she followed Dean to the kitchen. “And juice. Pwease.” 

“ _Ba_ nana,” corrected Dean as he sat her in her chair, chopped up a banana and poured out a small beaker of apple juice. He was trying to get her out the habit of baby talk before she started preschool. 

“Can we see Bess?” she asked through a mouthful of half-chewed banana which dribbled down her chin. Dean wiped it away gently with his thumb. 

“No Muffin, today Daddy has to work with Benny and Charlie because it’s Monday.” He put the coffee on and popped some bread in the toaster. “We see Garth and Bess on Wednesday and Saturday, remember?” 

Elsie nodded. “We see Jo?” 

“Yeah Baby we see Jo,” Dean said. 

Jo, Ash’s little sister, worked at The Harvelle Roadhouse along with her mother and brother, but also babysat Elsie on Mondays and Tuesdays when Dean worked at the tattoo parlour. On Wednesdays Dean took Elsie to band practice where she happily watched cartoons with Garth’s wife Bess and played with their four year old son Jim. On Thursdays and Fridays when he worked at Singer Salvage Yard, Karen, Bobby’s wife, looked after her. On Saturdays, Bess watched Elsie during band practice, but then Dean had his precious daughter back for the rest of the weekend. If Dean was asked to do some odd jobs, Bess or Jo were quite happy to care for the toddler for a couple of hours. Dean knew it wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t the best way to bring up a child and he was so ashamed of it, but he was trying – he was trying so hard. 

Jo and Bess both had jobs they had to get back to and couldn’t babysit her all the time, and Karen, though retired, was writing a book and couldn’t have a toddler running around the house while she wrote. Full time nannies or child-minders were just too expensive. Dean hoped his daughter was okay. He hoped she wasn’t like him and was more like Sammy. He and Sammy had had to move around a lot when they were kids because of their dad’s sales job. Dean, well, he’d turned out okay in the end, after a long and painful not-so-okay part of his life that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. Sammy had been fine. Sammy hadn’t dropped out of high school: he’d gone to Stanford and passed all his exams with flying colours, and now was one of Lawrence’s youngest lawyers. He hoped Elsie would be as unfazed with ever-changing childcare as Sam had been with their practically nomadic lifestyle. At least they weren’t moving state every two months. 

“Daddy!” Elsie brought him out of his daydream. “Toast popped!” She exclaimed, pointing at the toaster. 

“Well, so it has. Aren’t you a good little cook?” He grinned, standing up to lather jam onto it. He slurped his scalding coffee. This was the life. 

After breakfast, he wiped Elsie’s sticky face clean and got her dressed. Once she was busy with the train tracks of Elsie-Ville, he had a quick bath (their apartment was too small for a shower) and got dressed himself. Eyeliner and hair gel in, in what possibly was a record of four minutes, he sat down to play with his three year old. Jo arrived fifteen minutes later and he was out the door and in the Impala in twenty. 

He pulled up outside Bradbury’s at seven thirty and unlocked the shop; the musky smell of inks hitting his nose. Sleep still dragging at his eyes, he made a pot of coffee for himself and Benny and Charlie, who would arrive later. After a quick tidy, he sat down to perfect the design for his next tattoo. As Benny’s apprentice, he got tattoos at half price, but as Benny’s friend and fellow band member, he got them free, so he was splashing out. 

His next one was going to be small, unlike the bright solar system which curled around his left bicep, tangling its way into the names tattooed across his heart in a strange language he only really picked because he liked the look of the characters. He was going for a small dragon which would curl around his hipbone to tickle his upper thigh. He’d been wanting a dragon tattoo for a while, but the reason he was getting it now had absolutely nothing to do with his riveting ‘Lord of the Rings’ talk with Cas, nine days ago. 

He was interrupted by Benny walking in, headphones blasting and a paper bag with grease spots in hand. “Mornin’,” he said. Dean could tell his cough was fully cured. Thank God - they had sorely missed him in band practice.

“Mornin’ brother,” Dean replied, knowing full well Benny couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He went back to touching up his dragon whilst Benny ate his breakfast. 

“’S good,” Benny said, pulling his headphones off and hitting pause. “You want it now?” 

“Now? You have two clients today?” 

“We can be quick. ‘S it ready? ” Benny asked, nudging Dean’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, I like it.” 

“So let’s do this,” Benny said, moving over to the tattoo room to set up the equipment. 

“Fuck it, okay,” Dean grinned, following his friend and helping to set up. He set up the news bottles of ink next to little containers so Benny could pour in the smelly liquids when necessary, to make dipping the needles in ink a little easier. There was black for the outline, blues and greens for the dragon, and reds and oranges for the flames which would spurt from the fanged mouth. Benny set up his chair while Dean got out the Vaseline, razors and green soap. He lay down on the bench, which was wrapped in a sterilised one-use cover which rustled when he breathed. 

Benny sterilised the equipment in the autoclave and washed his hands thoroughly before sitting down next to Dean. 

“I know you know the drill,” Benny said, pulling on fresh gloves. “But I still gotta tell you everything for -”

“You sterilise the equipment in the autoclave, the needles and gloves and everything are single use… you’re gonna trace the design onto carbon paper…” he looked up. 

“You’ve revised,” commented Benny. Dean had indeed been touching up on the things tattoo artists need to say to their customers before inking them up. “Keep going,” he said, opening the sterile packet containing the outlining needles, and pouring the black ink into one of the little containers. 

“You’re gonna clean and shave the area, then put the carbon copy of the design on the wet skin to get the design on the skin. Next, you’re gonna apply a thin layer of Vaseline, then attach the needle, outline in black, clean the outline, colour – using thicker needles, clean the finished piece with green soap and bandage it.” Dean said, practically all in one breath. 

Benny gave three loud claps. “Now all you gotta do is pass the exam.” 

Dean laughed nervously. He hadn’t taken an exam since high school, over a decade ago. He took off his jeans, pulled up his t-shirt, and shimmied down his underwear so the right hipbone and upper thigh was visible. 

Benny wolf whistled. He wet the skin around Dean’s hips with baby-wipes, shaved it and disinfected it. Then he took Dean’s design, traced it onto the carbon paper and pressed it onto Dean’s wet skin. The action made a stencil for Benny to work off. He smoothed cold Vaseline onto Dean’s hipbone to prevent the needle dragging and chaffing the skin, working quickly and deftly; a craftsman’s practiced hands. 

“Ya ready?” he asked, tattoo machine, now fitted with needles, in hand. 

Dean nodded, holding his breath, as the familiar buzzing filled the room. He inhaled sharply as Benny traced the outline of the dragon, biting his lip when the machine moved over the bone. Soon, the pain dulled to a warm, tingling numbness. He focused on the sounds around him: the sound of the machine, a whining buzz that sort of resembled a mosquito; the song that was playing over the speakers: ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica, and Benny’s whistling which clashed with music. Dean couldn’t place the tune, but it may have been Hall of the Mountain King. Benny liked to whistle that a lot when he worked. 

Finally, the buzzing stopped and Dean felt the cold antiseptic soap soothing the sore skin. He looked up when the door opened. Charlie had arrived and just popped her head around the door to say hi. 

Benny wiped the area gently, then picked up the second tattoo machine, fitted with new, bigger needles. He poured out the coloured ink and started shading in the dragon’s scales, whistling all the while. Dean grimaced. The bench cover rustled. After a few minutes, the pain dulled again, but returned when Benny went over the same area again and again to add more colours to the dragon scales. Dean let out a little groan at the painful burning sensation.

Benny gently wiped away the blood and sprayed on a little green soap to clean the finished tattoo. Dean sighed at the cool, soothing liquid. 

Charlie, who had no visible uncoloured, unpierced skin, opened the door again, her long red hair falling over her eyes. “Benny, customer.” 

“Shit,” Benny muttered. They'd taken just over two hours. “We weren’t as quick as I thought, brother.” 

“I know the drill, Benny. I’ll clean up and you take Mr Hard-Core into Room Two.” 

“Bet you he cries,” grinned Benny. This Mr Hard-Core was a man who’d never previously had a tattoo, and was going to have a full back tattoo as his first. And, he kept saying how he had _such_ a high pain threshold. He was totally going to cry his eyes out. Benny left the room to greet Mr Hard-Core, (his actual name was Brian Fuller, or something like that). 

Dean bandaged the fresh tattoo, trying not to wince. Then he threw out all of the inks, needles and containers, stripped the bench of its cover and sterilised the machines Benny had used. Charlie came in to check his month-old solar system tattoo, which was doing great, and his relatively new hipbone and collarbone piercings, for which she prescribed some ointment to keep the swelling down. He left Room One to sit at the reception desk, help Benny and Charlie, and pour copious amounts of coffee for the rest of the day. Hell, he couldn't wait to get his licence.


	9. "We were cuddling!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas, Gabriel and Michael help move Gabriel into the other half of Cas's apartment, and Cas visits Bradbury's Body Art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have never had a tattoo. I hope my research pays off!
> 
> Tattoo notes: Never get a tattoo you aren't ready to get. They are expensive and painful to get, and expensive and painful to remove. Really not worth the effort if you aren't 100% sure about it. Always get tattoos and piercings in fully qualified, clean parlours. Never do it yourself. 
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Cas and Gabriel huffed in exhaustion as they fell onto the sofa. It was well after midnight, but they had finally moved Gabriel into the other half of the attic, after him sleeping on the sofa for two days. 

On the Sunday, they’d driven all of Gabriel’s belongings to the bookshop, heaving them up the stairs, sweating profusely. Then they’d cleared out all of the boxes in Gabriel's half of the attic that had been left there by the previous owner and brought them downstairs into the shop, trying not to drop the heavy loads down the stairs. Castiel had tried to make the most of the one day the shop was closed, so they invited Gabriel’s friend Michael to help them scrub the attic's cobwebby walls and give them a lick of white paint. By lunchtime they were shattered, so they spent the rest of the day watching movies and dozing. 

In Gabriel's attic on Monday, they opened the boarded up windows and the place suddenly felt a lot less musty. With the second coat paint was still wet, they had nothing to do but sort through the dusty books the previous owner had left. Cas wished Dean were here. Dean had said he would help clear out the attic, which was an exact mirror image of Castiel’s bit of the apartment; with a small bathroom, spacious bedroom and storage space - the open plan kitchen and living room were shared between the two halves of the attic, but Cas didn’t want to bother Dean. 

Gabriel lifted his head from deep within a cardboard box. “Cas, I’m not an expert, but these are kinda old. Some a probably out of print,” Gabriel said, holding up a copy of A.C.H Smith’s ‘Labyrinth’. “You could get a shit load money for them.” 

“I know, but…”

“But?” Michael asked, wiping the cover of another old book and watching the dust settle on the shop’s floor. 

“I don’t want to get rid of them,” Cas admitted, opening yet another box of books with a pair of scissors. 

“You could sell the boring ones, or the ones you have duplicates of,” offered Gabriel, flicking dust onto Michael. 

Cas nodded, so they sorted through all of the books they wanted to give away, and at dinnertime when Michael had to go home to his kids, they had fourteen boxes full of books to keep, and five full of books Castiel wanted to sell. Maybe Cas wasn’t as good at getting rid of books as he’d thought. 

When the paint finally dried, the Novak brothers moved most of Gabriel’s belongings into Gabriel’s half of the attic, and by the time they were done, it was almost two in the morning. They had yet to assemble the IKEA bed and chairs, however, which were piled in pieces in the corner of the living room.

After a half hour long snooze on the sofa, Gabriel woke. he shifted around, waking his older brother. Gabriel pulled the duvet he'd been using out from under the sofa and curled up under it, falling asleep again almost instantly. Cas’s limbs were heavy and sore. He should really have changed, brushed his teeth and fallen asleep in his own bed, but his eyelids grew heavy and he dozed off, tugging some of the duvet over himself. 

Cas woke on Tuesday morning to a stiff neck, snuggled around something warm and breathing. Who …? Was it Dean? _Please let it be Dean..._ It was Gabriel! He yelled in surprise, waking his younger brother up. 

“Wha-?” Gabriel mumbled, as Cas scrambled away from him. “Wha’s wrong?” 

“We were- we were _cuddling!_ ” Exclaimed Cas, making a disgusted face and rubbing his sleep clouded eyes. 

“Ew,” sniffed Gabriel, chucking a pillow at his brother. Cas threw it back, and pulled the duvet over Gabriel’s head. 

Gabriel made a muffled moan. “You woke me up... I fucking hate you.” 

“I know you do. Coffee?” Cas asked, moving across the open plan living room to the kitchen, half stumbling in his sleepy state. 

“Mmhm. Wha’s time?” mumbled the younger Novak. 

Cas checked the radio in the kitchen and groaned. “Just gone seven.” Gabriel grumbled something incoherent in reply. He was pretty useless until he’d had his morning cup of coffee, but then, so was Cas. Well, vat may be a more accurate description. Gabriel could drink coffee for America. But Cas, Cas could drink coffee for planet Earth.

The day passed uneventfully. Gabriel and Michael re-assembled the IKEA bed and small armchair, which they put in the newly painted bedroom. They put new fuses and blubs in the lights and unclogged the shower, and helpfully vacuumed up the dust left on the floor yesterday from the old books. They even, with Castiel’s help as business was crawling at a snail’s pace, painted one wall of Gabriel’s bedroom a deep orange-yellow. 

When Castiel closed the shop at seven, Gabriel and Michael were watching a movie upstairs. He slipped out unnoticed, and walked up the high street to Bradbury’s Body Art shop. The shop was so small, and the door so thin, that Cas would have missed it if it wasn’t for a tall, heavily built man, covered in vibrant tattoos, who opened the door and stepped into the street. Cas’s head whipped around, thinking it was Dean. His heart sank a little when he realised it wasn’t. 

“Hey,” said the man in a drawling Louisiana accent, digging a wallet out of his pocket. 

“H-hi, um… Do you work here?” 

“I sure do. I was just running for some chow,” the man pointed across the street to a burger place. “But it can wait if you just wanna chat.” 

“A chat is fine, thank you,” Cas replied, following the man inside and trying not to stare at his many tattoos. 

“I’m Benny,” the guy said, holding out his hand. Cas shook it, and afterwards wondered if he'd broken his hand. “This is Charlie,” he indicated a red-headed woman with equal numbers of tattoos and piercings, who was cleaning up in a back room. 

_Benny?_ The name rang a bell. “Do you, by any chance, know... Dean?” It dawned on Cas that he didn’t know Dean’s surname. “Dean…urgh…”

“Winchester? Blond hair, about ye high, got snakebites?” Benny placed two fingers on his chin, pointing out his own snakebite piercings.

“Yes that’s him.” _Winchester_ , though Cas. _Dean Winchester. What a perfect name._ “He’s a, um… a friend.” 

“And you wouldn’t be Cassiel, would ya?” Benny asked. 

“Castiel,” Cas corrected, rubbing his sore hand. 

“Well, _Castiel_ we’ve heard a bit about you,” grinned Benny, plopping down on the worn leather sofa and waving Cas to follow his lead. Cas sat. 

“You’re _the_ Castiel? The Cas we hear all about?” asked Charlie, emerging from the back room and closing the door. She sat behind the reception desk. 

“Apparently,” Cas replied, his insides twisting at the thought that Dean had told his friends about him. 

“Well, _Cas_ what can we do for ya?” enquired Benny. 

“I was thinking of getting a tattoo, but I’m having doubts.” Cas fiddled with the sleeves of his jumper, poking his fingers in and out of the frayed thumb-holes he'd made. 

“First one huh?” 

Cas nodded. 

“What were you thinking?” 

Cas pulled out his sketchbook from his bag and flipped it open. Three flyers, advertising for a helping hand in the bookshop, floated down to the floor next to the reception desk. Charlie picked them up and handed them to him, smiling. “I want something small- ” 

“Good choice for a first,” interrupted Charlie as she sat back down at the desk. 

“Either these lyrics, the anchor, or the arrow. On my wrist.” Cas pointed to the smaller drawings. He’d ruled out the complex colourful sleeves long ago. There was no way his first tattoo was going to be that big. 

“The thing with song lyrics is that a lotta people get bored of them, or end up not liking the song anymore. I’d go for something that you’re gonna love for the rest of your life,” suggested Benny. 

“Okay." 

“Pain is sorta intense on the wrist, but it's bearable," Charlie chimed in.

“How long will it take?," asked Cas.

“If it's the size you drew it here, and not coloured, an hour or so," Benny replied. "It'll cost around eighty bucks, aftercare lotions included."

“Okay, um... Thank you.” Cas said, standing up and packing away the sketchbook. 

“Goin’ already?” Questioned Benny, standing up too. 

“I don’t want to deprive you of your dinner,” explained Cas. “I’ll think about whether I’d like the arrow or the anchor.” 

“Sounds legit,” said Charlie. “Come back when you’ve made up your mind and we’ll make an appointment. Also, if you want us to put one of your ads in our window, we’d be cool to do that.” 

“That would be… great. Thank you. I appreciate that,” Cas beamed, handing her one of the leaflets. “I’ll come back soon.” 

“See ya,” Charlie said, as Benny followed Cas out and headed across the road to get a burger. 

Cas dug out his phone and edited Dean’s contact name to include his surname. A thought suddenly occurred to him. He jogged back to the door and opened it. 

Charlie looked up. “Hey?” 

“Hi. Would you mind not mentioning this to Dean, please? I’m not quite ready to-”

She looked confused, but said, “Sure. I got your back.” 

“Thanks,” Cas smiled, and he left the shop, excited and very, very nervous. 

After dinner (a fresh penne carbonara made by Gabriel), and a solid three hours of reading, he received a text from Dean. 

_ << nihgt out with the hunters <<_  
_From Dean Winchester. Received 21:25_

It was a picture of him, Benny, and three other men looking very drunk. 

_ << I miss u <<_  
_From Dean Winchester. Received 21:25_

**_ >> I miss you too, Dean. What in the world are you doing out on a Tuesday night? >>  
To Dean Winchester. Sent 21:26_**

_ << only time were all free. celebrating the recprd deal <<_  
_From Dean Winchester. Received 21:26_

**_ >> I see. I hope you have a good time. Congratulations again on the record deal. >>  
To Dean Winchester. Sent 21:26_**

_ << did u liek our new song <<_  
_From Dean Winchester. Received 21:26_

Cas suddenly realised he’d never heard any of Dean’s music, despite fantasising about Dean and his guitar for about a month now. Quickly, he googled ‘The Hunters new song’ and clicked on the first YouTube video that came up. It was called ‘You’re on my mind’. Sadly, it was only a lyric video, so he didn’t have a chance to see Dean playing, but his smooth, deep voice filled Cas’s bedroom. The music wasn’t really to Castiel’s taste, to be honest. It was too noisy, the bass to loud and the drums too fast. But it was _Dean_ , so he listened. 

**_ >> Yes, I liked it. >>  
To Dean Winchester. Sent 21:30_**

The next text he received was a picture of Dean making a kissing face at the camera. Cas made a noise that he would avidly deny was a squeal, and fell face first into his pillow, grinning manically. He looked at the picture again, biting his lip to stop the squeaking noises. 

Castiel definitely didn’t squeal.


	10. "You know I love the smurfs."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emergency pulls Dean away from quality flirting time with Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not medically trained, so all of the stuff in this chapter and chapters to come about said "emergency" is from my own research. If anything is incorrect, I apologise, and feel free to correct me.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Cas slurped his coffee. Damn, Dean was good at making those. He had just finished helping his third customer that day - a record compared to the past month or so. He'd sold seven books and he still had an hour until closing time! Maybe things were looking up for him. Now he sat on the aging leather sofa with his shoes off and his feet curled under him, looking up at Dean.

Dean was standing, showing him his new tattoo; a blue-green dragon snaking round his hipbone, breathing out hot flames which licked Dean's toned stomach. Cas couldn't help but stare at the muscles and, almost exclusively, Dean's upper thigh where the dragon's tail curled to an impressive end. Dean had one thumb hooked in his belt loop, pulling his jeans down so this was possible. Cas swallowed loudly. 

"So how many tattoos do you have?" he asked, hoping to see more of Dean's body which he hid under big black band t-shirts and black skinny jeans, though Cas was painfully aware he might soon need a pillow to cover his crotch. _Seriously Castiel, pull yourself together. Are you fifteen years old? Jesus..._

"God... um...twenty?" Hesitated Dean. "Maybe more?" 

Cas was about to reply, awestruck, when they were interrupted by Dean's phone ringing. Cas didn't know the song, but the lyrics seemed to say 'it was the heat of the moment'. 

"It's my brother," Dean said, confused, as he tried to pull his iPhone out of his very tight jeans. "Hey gigantor." 

_"Dean, thank God."_ Sam sounded like he'd been crying. 

"Sammy? What's wrong?" Dean asked, his face turning pale. Cas stood up, the mood completely gone. 

_"Dean, Jess is in h-hospital. I - I - we don't know..."_ He trailed off into a series of hiccupy sobs. 

"I'm on my way," said Dean, rushing over to Elsie, who was curled up in her usual position on the beanbags: covered in blankets and surrounded by books and toys, babbling to herself happily. 

"Dean, what happened?" Asked Cas, worried. 

Dean trembled. "Brother’s girlfriend is pregnant and in hospital and it sounds serious. We gotta go." He picked up his daughter and put her onto his hip, then winced loudly as he realised he'd put too much pressure on his new tattoo. 

Elsie whined in protest. "Daddy wanna stay!" 

Dean was stern, panic taking over. "No. We gotta -"

"I could look after her," interrupted Cas. "If that would be easier... and okay with you, of course." 

Dean stopped. "Would you? Really? Jesus... thank you so much." He lifted Elsie into Cas's arms. "Thank you! I'll keep you updated!" He shouted, as he left the shop and got into the Impala parked outside. 

The twenty minute drive across town to Lawrence Memorial Hospital, took him ten. He rushed into the reception area to find there was a long, slow moving queue of people, with a dippy looking receptionist at the far end. He waited in line for a moment or two, bouncing on his toes impatiently, before realising that waiting was futile. He called Sam. 

“I’m at the reception desk. Where are you?” 

_"Floor three, outside room fourteen,”_ came Sam’s shaky reply. 

“Three fourteen,” Dean repeated, making his way up the nearest flight of stairs. “Be right there.” 

It took him a minute or two to find the right corridor, but he saw Sam sitting on a chair outside, cradling his head in his hands. Dean jogged over. 

“I’m here I’m here,” he panted. 

Sam stood up jerkily and hugged him tightly. He buried his head in his older brother’s neck, and Dean felt a few hot tears trickle onto his skin. Dean squeezed Sam back, and they stood there for a few moments, just embracing in the middle of the corridor. 

“Sammy, what happened?” asked Dean as Sam’s grip loosened. 

“I don’t know. After you left after lunch, Jess felt really weak and tired and dizzy, and she kept puking, but we thought it was normal, you know? But then she f-fainted, and she was ch-choking on her-” Sam stopped, sniffing and sat on the chair outside the room. Dean squatted in front of him and put a hand under Sam’s chin to lift his brother’s gaze to meet his own, something he hadn't done in over two decades. 

Dean’s chest was tight. Jess really didn’t sound good, but he said, “Hey. She’s gonna be okay. You know that right?” He soothed as Sam wiped away another tear and nodded weakly. "So quit worrying, capisce?"

Sam nodded again, but didn't seem to take Dean's advice, as his knee kept bouncing up and down and every few minutes he would get up and pace the corridor, his breathing labored and his eyes cloudy. 

“When are we allowed in?” Dean asked, sitting on the floor next to his brother's chair and leaning his head against Sam's thigh. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I’ll go find out, huh? You stay here.” Dean found a nurse who was able to go in and check on Jess. She came back and told them they would be allowed to visit in half an hour, once the doctors had finished running some tests and Jess was fully conscious. 

To pass the time, Dean bought them watery coffee from the cafeteria, and shyly told his brother a little bit about Cas, and about how much he liked him. He hoped it was distracting enough. It probably wasn’t. They stared listlessly at the floor until the door opened and they both jumped. Sam stood up from his chair, and Dean from where he was sitting on the floor. 

It was a doctor. She held out her hand. “Hello I’m Dr Barnes, but feel free to call me Pam.” 

“Sam, Jess’s boyfriend.” Sam shook her hand. “My brother Dean,” he indicated Dean with a tired tilt of his head. “What h-happened?” 

“Jessica was severely dehydrated, but she's doing okay now. We have attached a saline drip to an IV in her arm to re-hydrate her with the essential salts, water and nutrients she needs, and we gave her some painkillers for the cramping and a high dose of Zofran to stop the nausea, so she’s a bit drowsy.” 

Both brothers nodded. 

“But she’s fine, you don’t need to worry,” Dr Barnes said, pushing the door open. 

Jess was lying in bed, with a drip in her arm, looking pale and sleepy. She smiled faintly as Sam walked in the room. 

“Hey,” Sam said, taking her hand, the one without the drip, in his. He sat on the edge of her bed. 

“Hey,” she croaked. 

“How you feelin’?” 

“Like shit.” She managed a feeble laugh, which turned into a violent coughing fit. Dr Barnes was by her side in an instant, and Sam rubbed her back until it subsided, offering her a glass of water when she could breathe normally again. 

“Is that Dean?” she asked, craning her neck to look past Sam. Dean was leaning against the door frame. 

“It is,” grinned the older Winchester. 

“C’mere,” whispered Jess. Dean walked towards her and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

Dr Barnes cleared her throat. “There are…just a few complications that we’d like to discuss with you?” 

“Complications?” Sam asked, whipping his head around to face the doctor. 

“Unfortunately, yes. The biggest risk with dehydration in the first trimester is it can result in not enough amniotic fluid. This is called Oligohydramnios. This can cause the baby to lie against the uterus instead of floating in the amniotic fluid, which could potentially lead to deformities of the arms, legs, and feet, and in more serious cases, miscarriage.” Dean swallowed thickly. Sam and Jess’s grip on each other’s hands tightened. 

“However, we did a Amniotic Fluid Index Evaluation while you were unconscious, Jessica, and found that while you do have Oligohydramnios, it’s not severe.” 

Jess gulped, placing a hand over her stomach. 

“And it is treatable, right? Jess and the baby're gonna be okay?” Dean asked nervously. 

The doctor nodded. “Yes, and the baby is looking healthy, but we'll have to keep the you under close observation throughout the pregnancy just in case this changes. Jess, the most important thing to keep you hydrated, both through drinking and through the IV, but if this fails to raise the amniotic fluid volume, the AVF, we will have to inject some fluid into the womb through a process called Amniocentesis. This process has its pros and cons, but we can cross that bridge when if we come to it.” 

“Okay,” Sam said slowly. 

“How long will I have to stay?” Inquired Jess in a hoarse voice. 

“We need to keep you under observation for at least five days, and if we have to perform Amniocentesis, you’ll be in here for another week on top of that, minimum. After that, you’ll be on bed rest for another month or so, because the amniotic fluid acts as a cushioning for the baby, so even moving around in normal everyday life can hurt the baby if there’s not enough protection.” 

Everyone nodded. 

“For now though, I wouldn’t worry. There is a good chance that just drinking a lot of liquids will raise your fluid levels. You’ll need to drink something orally at least every thirty minutes when you’re awake. You should be drinking around a litre of water every hour, and on top of that, if you want, milk, diluted squash, diluted fruit juices... milkshakes… but not tea or coffee or any antidiuretics. Cakes and chips are also good snacks to replace lost salts and sugars,” suggested Dr Barnes. 

“That’s the only time I’ve ever heard a doctor prescribe junk food,” Dean chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. Everyone laughed. 

“Sam, will you be staying the night?” Dr Barnes asked. 

Sam shifted on the edge of Jess's bed. “Yes please, if that’s possible.” 

“It sure is. Let me bring in another bed,” the doctor smiled, leaving the room. 

“I’ll go to your place and get your things,” offered Dean. “Anything you really want?” He asked. 

“My Smurfs t-shirt,” Jess said throatily. 

“You know I love the Smurfs,” Dean winked, as Sam handed him some keys. "Back in a bit," he called as he left the room. 


	11. "You owe me $30."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exhausted, Dean goes back to Cas's apartment and stays the night. Something very important happens the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Dean unlocked his phone just as he was leaving the hospital after having dropped off bags of clothes and toiletries for Sam and Jess. There were three texts from Cas.

 ** _ << I hope everything is okay. Text me when you get the chance.<<_  
_From Cas. Received 18:13_**

**_ << I (aka Gabriel) made chicken, potatoes and peas for Elsie. She’s now asleep on one of the many beanbags you bought me (thank you again). Is everything okay?<<_  
_From Cas. Received 19:29_**

**_ << There’s dinner and beer waiting for you at my place.<<_  
_From Cas. Received 21:00_**

Dean sat in the impala, tapping out a reply.

 _ >> everythings okay. on my way be there in 20 >>  
To Cas. Sent 21:30_

He arrived a little before ten, and Cas pulled him into a hug, and then into the kitchen where he had laid the table. It was chicken marinated in a honey and mustard sauce, with buttery new potatoes and fresh peas. There were two beers on the table too.  


“Wow. Thanks, Cas,” Dean smiled gratefully.  


“It was mostly Gabriel,” Cas admitted. “I just put the beers out.”  


“That’s a very important job. Lots of skill needed.” They both laughed tiredly. Then Dean asked, “So where is this famous Gabriel?”  


“He’s staying at his friend Michael’s. It’s just you and me tonight,” Cas said bashfully.  


“I’m not complaining,” Dean said, tucking in to the hot food. It was delicious. “Mmmm ishsso good,” he murmured, mouth full of chicken.  


They finished the food and washed it down with two beers each, while Dean explained what had happened to Jess, only tearing up once, though he would never admit it. It was half past eleven when Dean yawned and said he’d go and get Elsie so that they could drive home.  


“No, um… stay the night? Please?” Cas fumbled for his words. “You’ve had two beers, we don’t want another Winchester hospitalised.”  


“Good point,” Dean sighed blearily. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”  


“Or… in my bed? If that’s not too weird, I mean. The couch just isn’t that comfy and...” Cas trailed off.  


Dean grinned, repeating what he'd said the third time they met. “You’re kinda cute when you babble like that. Your bed it is then,” Dean said, following Cas into his bedroom. He saw that Elsie was snuggled under a soft blanket on a beanbag in the corner.  


“Umm… Cas. Elsie isn’t dry at night yet? And I don’t -”

Cas placed a finger to Dean’s lips. “Already taken care of. There’s a towel on the beanbag and she’s wearing a diaper.”

“How did you…?”  


“We went to the grocery store.”  


“God you are a genius,” Dean blinked in tired admiration.  


“I know,” Cas replied, pulling off his jeans and slipping into bed in his boxers and long sleeved t-shirt which had holes cut out for the thumbs. Dean copied. They lay a comfortable distance from each other; not touching, but close enough. The futon was surprisingly comfortable. Maybe Dean would have to rethink his view on hipster interior design choices. He fell asleep to Cas’s heavy breathing and the constant replaying of this evening’s events in his head.  


*******  


What woke him? Dean couldn’t quite figure out what had done it. Or where he was. All he knew was that the bed was warm and cosy and something smelt awesome. He could hear a gravelly voice and Elsie’s constant stream of happy chatter.  


Oh! He was at Cas’s! He opened his eyes, and realised that the smell seemed to be bacon. He got up, rubbing his stiff neck, and pulled on yesterday’s jeans. He glanced at his watch. Eight a.m. He stumbled into the kitchen, where Cas was facing the stove, flipping pancakes and frying bacon. Elsie was sitting at the table, stuffing her face with syrupy pancakes.  


“Mornin’” Dean said. “Smells good.”  


Cas turned around. “Thank you. It’s the one thing I can do, provided the mixture’s ready-made and in a squeezey bottle.”  


Dean chortled. “Still smells awesome.”  


Cas tipped five fresh pancakes on his plate, along with two rashes of bacon. “Coffee’s almost ready and syrup’s on the table. Or what’s left of it after this monster’s breakfast.”  


“You do tend to do that, don’t you Pumpkin?” Dean cooed, wiping a dribble of syrup off Elsie’s nose. Elsie giggled and licked the syrup off her dad’s finger.  


“Daddy more syrup!” She said, though it sounded more like ‘seewup’.  


“No, I think you’ve had enough. If you have any more you might _turn into_ syrup, and that would not be cool,” Dean said, taking a huge bite of his pancakes and moaning in satisfaction. “God, Cas these are perfection.”  


Elsie put her arms in the air the second Dean was finished breakfast. “Up! Up!” She squealed. “Play with Cas.”  


The adults smiled fondly. “She really likes you,” Dean grinned, picking his sticky daughter up and holding her away from his clothes. “Can I put her in the bath?”  


“There’s a shower at the end of my bedroom,” Cas said, clearing away the frying pan.  


“A shower?” Asked Dean incredulously. “Hey Sweetie, wanna have a shower?” He asked.  


“What’s shower?” She asked, big eyes blinking.  


“We only have a bath at home,” Dean explained, as Cas looked confused.  


Cas laughed. “And there I was thinking you never washed her!”  


Dean took his daughter by the hand. “C’mon. Let’s go see the shower!”  


Dean turned on the hot spray, crouching in his boxers at one end and trying not to get Cas’s bathroom too wet. Elsie stood under the stream of water, first staring in awe, saying “It’s raining Daddy!” and “Why’s tap on the ceiling?” Then she started crying. A loud, screaming cry which bought Cas running.  


“What’s wrong?” He worried. “Is it too hot? I can make it colder if-”  


Elsie rushed into Dean’s arms, luckily not slipping on the wet tiles. “Daddy don’t like it.”  


Dean hissed as she pressed against his new tattoo. “Shh Baby, it’s okay. You’re safe,” he soothed her, and she calmed down as she dripped a little puddle onto the floor. Cas handed Dean a flannel and he finished cleaning her with that while Cas cleared up from breakfast.  


Clean, dry and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, Elsie went to ‘help’ Cas tidying while Dean had a shower. He was embarrassed that Cas had seen him in his boxers cradling his screaming toddler. God he was a mess. He didn’t have any of his lotions with him for his tattoo, but he figured it was okay to miss one day out. He improvised with some after-shaving moisturiser. He brushed his teeth with some toothpaste on his finger, longing for a time hopefully in the future, when he would have a copy of all his toiletries in a drawer in Cas’s bathroom, and had a drawer of Cas’s belongings in his own apartment.  


Wet hair dripping, he padded into the kitchen to find Cas and Elsie playing peek-a-boo on the sofa in the living room. Cas never failed to amaze him.  


“Hey,” he murmured, sitting down next to Cas.  


“Hi,” Cas responded, turning to face him.  


“I, urrrh, Cas, I just wanted to thank you… for this… for-” He smiled nervously.  


“It’s not a problem, Dean. I was very happy to help. That’s what friends do.”  


_Friends. That was the problem,_ Dean thought. He wanted to be more than that. “Can I take you out to dinner?” He blurted. “As a th-thank you?”  


Cas went red and quiet. He nodded; a tiny movement. “Okay.”  


“I really, ummm, like you Cas.” Dean whispered. “I hope you know that.”  


“Dean, are you asking me out?” Cas asked timidly.  


Dean gave a nervous laugh and ran his hand through his wet hair. “Trying to anyway. Is it working?”  


“I think so,” stammered Cas, his heart fluttering. He shifted closer to Dean on the sofa, revelling in the other man’s warmth and the slow dripping of his wet hair.  


Later,

**_ >> You owe me $30 >>  
To Gabriel Novak. Sent 11:02_**


	12. “You’re totally in love with him!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Elsie visit Jess in hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

The next day, Tuesday, Dean and Elsie went to visit Jess in hospital after Dean had finished working at Bradbury’s.  


Dean had never liked hospitals. But then again, did anyone actually _like_ hospitals? Well, Jess did, when she was working there and not being a patient: she was a paediatrician for disabled children. Jess loved her job; loved the hospital. Dean wasn't so keen. They always smelled of disinfectant, with an undertone of vomit and other bodily fluids that Dean really didn’t want to picture, especially as he was carrying some really good smelling stuff that Gabriel had baked and left as Cas’s, and he didn’t want to be put off his food.  


The last time he’d set foot in Lawrence Memorial Hospital (before the emergency with Jess on Saturday, that was) was when Elsie was born. It had been a traumatic birth; two and a half weeks early with the umbilical cord wrapped around the her neck, swiftly followed by an infection and many, many stitches on Lisa’s part. Dean would have liked to say he was there for every minute of it, but he’d had to run out to puke once. Maybe twice. And he hadn’t been so good on managing his panic attacks back then, so he’d been in and out of the room, too restless to be pinned down by Lisa’s iron grip. At least he didn’t miss the actual birth, where everything built up to one hot, loud, slippery rush, and Dean was torn between his exhausted, crying wife and his daughter, who was a blue-purple shade and was very distinctly _not_ crying.  


Dean swallowed nervously as he stepped inside the building, holding Elsie’s hand.  


“Where’s Jessie?” Elsie asked, looking around for her auntie in the crowded reception room, as if expecting to see her there, lying on her bed with the line of people waiting to book appointments weaving around her like a river round a boulder.  


Dean chuckled. Trust little Elsie to bring his panic levels down. “She’s upstairs sweetie. This is just where people ask to see the doctor. It’s called the _reception_.”  


“Weception,” she repeated, and Dean smiled fondly.  


They went in the elevator. Elsie insisted on pushing all of the buttons, so it was a long ride, but they finally arrived on floor three, having passed all the other floors on their way to get there. Dean knocked on the door softly and pushed it open. Sam was lying on a camp-bed snoring. Jess was awake and reading a magazine.  


“Hey,” he whispered, not wanting to wake Sam. Knowing his little brother, Sam had been on his feet, tending to Jess’s every need since the moment he was allowed into her room just over forty eight hours ago.  


“Hi Jessie!” Elsie shouted.  


Jess looked up and smiled. “Hey Dean, heya Elsie.”  


“How you doin’?” asked Dean, perching on the end of the bed. Elsie clambered on top of Jess.  


“I’m doing okay… quite sore, but I haven’t puked in over twenty four hours though because of this Zofran med or something, which is like a major record.”  


“That’s great,” Dean smiled, placing a reassuring hand Jess’s blanket covered legs.  


The camp-bed creaked. Sam groaned and shifted on the squeaking bed, waking up. “De-ean,” he said blearily, still lying on his stomach, but pushing the hair out of his eyes so he could see his family. “…Elsie… Hi.”  


“Hi Uncle Sammy!” Elsie sang, wriggling on Jess’s bed.  


“Hi sweetie.” He paused for a minute, squinting at the side of Jess’s bed. “Huh…pi,” mused Sam, rubbing his eyes.  


Dean sat up straight, his eyes lighting up. “Pie? Where?”  


Sam chortled sleepily. “No, dumbass, pi,” he said, pointing to the number written on Jess’s bed.  


Dean still looked confused. “Either get me some pie or stop laughing,” he grumbled.  


“Pi? P – I? The number? Ring any bells?” Sam retorted, rolling his eyes and sitting up. He pointed again to the number on the side of the bed: 3.14; floor three, room fourteen. “3.1415926-”  


“-Son of a bitch.” Dean huffed in disappointment. “Next time, just bring me some pie, nerd.”  


“Dude, you’re not the one that’s sick,” Sam said as he stood up to kiss Jess.  


She pulled away, wincing because of the sudden movements, but pinching him on the backside to cover up her pain. “Ew. Go brush your teeth before we have a sexy make-out session in my hospital bed.”  


“Before you lovebirds make me vomit -” Dean started, but was interrupted by Elsie shouting,  


“CAKE!”  


“Yeah. Cake,” Dean finished, picking the paper bag off of the table. “There’s brownies, cupcakes and some kinda oat biscuit thing. I dunno, it’s like solidified oatmeal, but it’s good.” He offered the bag to Jess, who took a small white chocolate chip brownie, bit into it and moaned in satisfaction.  


“Are these from Trickster Treats?” she asked.  


Dean nodded. “Sorta.”  


Licking his fingers free of oat-y crumbs, Sam said, “I thought Trickster Treats had closed?”  


“I, urgh… kinda know the owner,” Dean said, feeling the heat rise on his cheeks. He was like a damn teenage girl with this blushing problem he had every time he thought about Cas. Something clicked in Sam’s brain. It had taken him long enough; too long, considering Dean’s hot cheeks and Sam’s law degree.  


“Oh! This is Cas’s brother, isn’t it? Oh my god you’ve already met his _brother_? That’s so not fair, when do we meet to meet Cas? Can he do Saturdays for lunch?” Sam asked, firing questions.  


“I’ve missed something here…” stated Jess. “Explain.”  


“No. Sam wasn’t meant to tell.”  


“Tell, or you’re not getting any brownies,” she bribed, grabbing the bag and holding close to her chest.  


“I have more at home,” Dean shrugged, but Elsie whimpered.  


“Brownie daddy.” She gave him her cutest puppy eyes. She must have got that from Sam, somehow. Goddamit Sam.  


“Yeah, brownie, daddy,” Jess mocked, smirking.  


Dean sighed, giving Sam his best bitchface before turning to Jess. “Fine. This guy I know, Cas. His brother Gabriel used to own Trickster Treats before it closed.”  


“And? Have you asked him out yet?” Implored Sam.  


“What?!” exclaimed Dean.  


“You’re totally in love with him! … and now you’re blushing.” Grinned Sam.  


Dean reached over to Jess and stole a cupcake. He took a bite (narrowly avoiding a frosting-moustache) and heaved an embarrassed sigh. “I asked him out yesterday,” he whispered.  


Sam clapped in delight. “Congratulations! You finally grew a pair.”  


“Yeah, well… he’s cute. I had to.” Blushed Dean.  


“When do we get to meet him?” Jess asked excitedly.  


“Oh… never.” Dean shook his head jokingly. “He’s all mine.”  


“And mine!” Piped up Elsie, not really understanding.  


Jess whined, “Aww no fair. Elsie’s met him, _and_ you’ve already met his brother!”  


“Technically not. His brother’s just moved in with Cas, but he’s out a lot sorting out his divorce and the rights and stuff to his house and to Trickster Treats and hanging out with friends. We’ve never actually bumped into each other, but he always leaves good chow.”  


Jess nodded knowingly. “He just doesn’t wanna be there when you guys bang,” she explained.  


“DUDE! No! Elsie’s there!” Dean cried, mouth full of the last of his blueberry cupcake.  


“We could always babysit…” suggested Jess, winking.  


Sam mimed puking. “I do _not_ want to think about that,” he moaned. “God, the amount of times I’ve walked in on you is insane. Why can’t you just-”  


Dean waved his hands. “Okay okay. Let’s keep it PG please.” He motioned to Elsie with a cock of his head. “Sam, how things with the new law firm?”  


“They’re good,” Sam replied. “It’s hard. The clients are interesting, but kind of douchey. At least the pay’s big. How’s the tattoo licence coming on?”  


“It’s going okay.”  


“How many hours do you have left?” Asked Jess.  


“Uhhh... let’s see… I did my eight hours learning on infection control and I’ve done about half of the two hundred and ten theory hours, and ‘bout half of the one hundred and fifty practical hours. And I gotta finish my fifty tattoos observed by Benny because I’ve done thirty two, do the exam, submit my application, then I’m ready to go, so like… lots and lots of hours left.”  


“Still, it sounds great. Well done,” smiled Sam. An alarm somewhere in the room buzzed. It was seven pm. “Jess, drinking time,” he said, handing her a large bottle of water from the bedside table. She took a large swig. There was a knock on the door.  


“Come in,” Sam called.  


Dr Barnes opened the door carrying a clipboard. “Hi Jess, Sam … Dean,” she said.  


“Hey Pam,” Jess said. She and Pam weren't exactly close, as they worked in different departments, but they were friends.  


Sam shook the woman's hand. "Hi Dr Barnes."

“Pam, please. And who’s this little princess?” she cooed.  


“My name is Elsie,” Elsie said proudly. “I’m three years old and four months old and my favourite colour is yellow.”  


Dr Barnes gasped. “Really? My favourite colour is yellow too!” She leant down. “High five.”  


Elsie smacked her hands. “High five!” She squealed. Dean’s heart burst with bubbles of pride.  


Dr Barnes – Pam – bustled around, getting medicines and an ultrasound machine out of the locked cupboards.  


“We’re going to do another Amniotic Fluid Index Evaluation just to see if your AFV, the amniotic fluid volume, has gone up, so I’ll be doing an ultrasound scan and then measuring the diameter of your stomach. How are your pain levels, on a scale of one to ten?”  


“Um… three? Four?”  


Dean cleared his throat. “Jess, Sam, Dr Ba- Pam, we’re gonna head off. I’ll see you guys soon.”  


Elsie waved as they left. “Daddy why is the lady putting goo on Jessie’s belly?”  


“Ah, that’s so they can see inside to see if the baby’s okay.”  


“They can see inside her belly!?” Yelled Elsie, amazed.  


Dean nodded, beaming at his daughter.  


“Daddy that’s magic! The lady is magic! Is she a wizard?”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Dean’s phone buzzed just as he was falling asleep.

_**< < Hello Dean. How was your day? <<  
From Cas. Received 00:45 ** _

_ >> heya cas :). day was alright. i worked in bradburys then we visited jess in hospital. how was urs? >>  
To Cas. Sent 00:45_

_**< < It was a usual day. Sadly only one customer :(. <<  
From Cas. Received 00:45 ** _

Dean winced. Poor guy. Business really was extraordinarily bad.

_ >> we really gotta give the place a makeover soon. i bet itll make a huge differebce >>  
To Cas. Sent 00:46_

_**< < Yes, we should. How about two weeks from now? <<  
From Cas. Received 00:46 ** _

_ >> 19-25 aug? sounds awesome >>  
To Cas. Sent 00:46_

_**< < Why the 19th-25th? That's seven whole days, Dean. <<  
From Cas. Received 00:46 ** _

_ >> because a job like thats gonna take like a week dude >>  
To Cas. Sent 00:46_

_**< < Oh, I wasn’t aware. I’m not very good at DIY Dean. <<  
From Cas. Received 00:46 ** _

_ >> HAHAHAHAHAHA i can tell >>  
To Cas. Sent 00:46_

Dean groaned in frustration. How embarrassing.

_ >> *haha wtf autocorrect. >>  
To Cas. Sent 00:47_

_ >> hey buddy im drifting off here. talk to u soon. >>  
To Cas. Sent 00:53_

_**< < Sorry. I should not have subscribed to Netflix. Now I am addicted. Good night Dean. <<  
From Cas. Received 02:30 ** _

Then, after Cas had spent thirteen minutes deliberating whether or not it was a good idea,

_**< < Xxx <<  
From Cas. Received 02:43 ** _

And the smile on Dean’s face when he saw it in the morning would have told a blind man it was a good idea.


	13. "We do not permit nudity!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas go on their first date!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions/implications of scars from self harming in this chapter. 
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

It was Friday. Date day. 

Dean drove home from Bobby’s as fast as he could. Well, as fast as was legal: he had a child for Christ’s sake. Jo was waiting outside their apartment when they arrived; Dean sweating. 

“You’re late, asshole,” she said with a hug. She turned to Elsie. “Heya sweetie. Did’ya have fun at Bobby’s?” 

“Yes!” Elsie said as Jo swung her up into her arms. “We played on swing and I had pie for lunch but daddy ate lots of it so Karen gave me apple… ” she babbled, recounting her day in great detail. 

They entered the apartment and Dean rushed off to get ready. Jo and Elsie went into the tiny kitchen to prepare something for dinner. 

Dean took a bath and put on some cologne. Then he decided he reeked like Target’s perfume aisle so he took yet another bath. “Jo? Cologne or no?” He shouted from the bathroom. 

“Hmmm… Nah. I kinda like the way you smell of like… tattoo ink, car oil and baby shampoo?” She smirked. “It’s kinda sexy,” she called back. 

“You’re kidding right?” 

“Nope. Dead serious. Just put on deodorant, you’ll be fine.” 

So he took her advice, and came out of the bathroom wearing his only signature black skinny jeans, the ones without the rips. He held up a selection of shirts, one black cotton, one black silk, one deep red and one white. 

“Which one?” He asked. 

“Umm… black. You always wear black. If you don’t, Cas like, might not recognise you,” she joked. 

Dean was too nervous to be amused. “Silk or not?” 

Jo replied, “Silk’s nice. S’fancy,” she said as she put a pan of boiling water on the stove and poured some pasta into it for Elsie. 

“’K,” Dean said, hurrying off to the bathroom to spike up his hair and put in some nice earrings. “Eyeliner?” He yelled. 

Jo groaned loudly. “I don’t know Dean. Just be yourself, your normal self! That’s who Cas wants to go out with, not some fu- _freaky_ -” she corrected, wary of Elsie. (Growing up in The Roadhouse made for quite a dirty mouth). “- version of you that’s been warped by me.” 

“Okay,” Dean said quietly. He’d never thought of that, that Cas actively _wanted_ to go out with him. Most people just actively wanted to fuck him, but not many people wanted a relationship with him, nor did they bother to ask. He lined his eyes in black, smudging it around the edges so it looked less obvious. 

He was picking Cas up at seven thirty in the Impala, and _holy fuck it’s seven twenty already?_ The drive from their apartment to Cas's place took fifteen minutes on a good day. He raced out of his bedroom, pulled on his boots and grabbed his stuff; leaving with a wet kiss patch on his shirt from Elsie. 

In the car Dean played Metallica’s ‘Ride The Lightning’ tape. He was still humming the opening chords to ‘Escape’ to calm his nerves when Cas opened the front door to the bookshop. Cas had been sitting on the faded leather sofa biting his nails, when Dean pulled up; engine revving and music blasting. Cas’s heart had quivered with affection. 

“Uhh… hi,” Cas attempted to smile, blushing profusely. He tugged at the skin around his nails with his teeth again. 

“Hey.” Dean looked equally as nervous. “You really shouldn’t bite the skin, you can get some nasty-ass infections from doing that.” 

“Umm… okay,” Cas responded, taking his hand away from his mouth to fiddle with the sleeves of his jumper and wiggle his thumbs in and out of the holes he'd cut for them. 

“Fuck, sorry. I’m sorry Cas,” Dean pulled him in for an awkward pat-on-the-back hug. “Look at me, giving lectures before I even say hi. It’s the goddamn infection control stuff for the Bradbury’s and it makes me go all Bones McCoy on people...” he trailed off. “I’m babbling, sorry.” 

“It’s kinda cute,” Cas replied. 

“Start over?” Dean asked as me moved closer to Cas and hugged him properly. “Hey,” he whispered, looking at Cas with wide, soft eyes. 

“Hi,” Cas smiled shyly. 

“Hi,” Dean repeated, laughing. “You look lovely. That blue really looks good on you.” Cas looked gorgeous. He was wearing tight black jeans which were turned up at the bottom to reveal their blue lining, and an oversized sweater in the same sky shade, highlighting his bright eyes. It was the kind of sweater that could have cost a dollar at a thrift store, or two hundred at an upmarket hipster place downtown - Dean couldn't tell. He feet bore black converses, albeit a bit scruffy, with mismatched laces and odd socks. And what was it that made Dean tick? Was it the floppy beanie that Dean would have rolled his eyes at had it been anyone else wearing it? It was _summer_ for Christ’s sake! Or was it the tufts of black messy hair peeking out from _under_ the beanie that looked as if Cas had spent an intense afternoon in bed? 

“And you look good too, Dean,” replied Cas. “I like the shirt, it’s very smart.” 

“How are you not too hot?” asked Dean and they slid into the Impala. As soon as he’d said it, he remembered why Cas always wore long sweaters, and why now, he sat quietly blushing. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Dean mumbled, berating himself for fucking up this badly within two minutes of seeing Cas. 

Cas was tapping his fingers against his knee. “It’s okay Dean. Forget it.” 

Dean nodded, relieved. 

“So where are we going?” 

“It’s a surprise,” Dean grinned as he started the car. He had been toying with the idea of going to Ellen’s Roadhouse. They made the best burgers in town and the atmosphere was perfect, but Dean sensed that Cas wouldn’t be the type of guy to hang out at a rough bar on the edge of town, listening to rock music and being surrounded by bikers. And it might be a bit awkward taking him on a first date to see Ellen, who would mother them both and tell Cas stories about when Dean was little. 

Instead, they were going to this Italian place that Sam had recommended. It was a small restaurant with candlelight tables and soft music, kind of a ‘Lady and the Tramp’ style. It wasn’t too fancy, too busy, or too weird, but it was romantic. Dean, despite assumptions that many made based on his appearance, was quite the romantic. Not the soppy poetry and singing-outside-your-window kind, but the kind to bring breakfast in bed and to go on spontaneous weekend road trips. 

“A surprise? Okay…” 

Dean said nothing, listening to the Metallica tape playing softly in the background. When they arrived, they were seated by an Italian waitress who tried desperately to flirt with Cas. They laughed her off, explaining that they were on a date, and she turned redder than the tomato sauce on the pasta she was bringing to the table. 

They drank Chianti (Dean had no idea what it was, nor how to pronounce it, but Cas seemed an expert on his wines). They shared their pastas, talked, laughed, and listened to the pianist playing in the corner. It was so perfect, so surreal, that Cas was terrified something would go wrong. He was so nervous, in fact, and so preoccupied with hoping things wouldn’t go wrong, that he laughed at Dean’s joke a little too enthusiastically and knocked the red wine over, smashing glass and spilling the liquid all over his front. 

“Shit,” he whispered, leaning back from the white tablecloth. His whole front was splashed in red. The waitress hurried over. “I’m so sorry,” Cas said. 

“Do not worry, _Signor_ ,” she said, sweeping up the glass. Luckily there was no spillage on the tablecloth, but it was all over the floor and his chest. “We have some cleaning product in the back, I could clean the sweater for you before you leave us.” 

Cas hesitated. “No… thank you. I’d rather keep it on.” 

“But _Signor_ , it is covered in the wine! It will stain if we don’t wash it out quickly!” The waitress fretted. 

“No, I don't have anything on underneath! I want to keep -” 

“Cas, give it to her,” Dean interrupted. “It’s a nice sweater, we don’t want it ruined.” 

Cas shook his head, his eyes wide and staring at Dean, hoping he’d understand. He hadn’t shown his bare arms to anyone in years. There was no way he was starting now, on his first date with Dean. “Dean…” 

“Cas. I get it.” Dean gave an encouraging smile. He turned to the waitress. “We’re going to the bathroom. I’ll give you the sweater in a minute." He took Cas by the hand. "C’mon.” 

Cas stood up, shaking with embarrassment, and followed Dean. By now, couples in the neighbouring tables were staring at this strange man wearing a wine soaked sweater in the middle of August and refusing to take it off. 

“Dean, I can’t…” he said, once they were in the bathroom alone. Dean started unbuttoning his shirt. “Wait, what are you…?” 

“I have a clean shirt. Wear this,” Dean said, pulling it off and handing it to Cas. Cas started at his tattoos and the studs on his hipbones. He didn’t know you could even have piercings on hipbones. 

“I… thank you. But what will you wear?” 

Dean shrugged. “It’s warm out. I don’t need a shirt.”

Cas snorted. “We’re in a restaurant Dean, you can’t go shirtless.” He giggled at the prospect as he went into the cubical so he could change in private. 

Dean joined in the laughter. “Watch me,” he chuckled. 

Cas emerged, looking very cute in Dean’s black silky shirt, buttoned all the way to the top. Dean reached over and unbuttoned the top two fastenings, saying “You need to breathe, Cas.” 

“Or you’d just like it unbuttoned,” Cas retorted. 

“Or that,” Dean replied, and unbuttoned it a little further. 

They handed the sopping sweater to the waitress, who kindly soaked it in stain remover for them while they finished their meal. She looked a little put out by Dean’s shirtless-ness, stating that “But _Signor_ , this is _un ristorante_! We do not permit nudity!” But Dean promised to give her a huge tip, so she eventually obliged. 

The meal passed without further mishap, and they shared a tiramisu, which Cas deemed to be not as good as Gabriel’s. Dean decided that, one, he had to meet Gabriel, and two, they better have a taste test of the two tiramisus, so they ordered another one to go, Cas still apologising profusely to both the waitress and to Dean, who was paying, for spilling the expensive wine. 

Gabriel always seemed to be out when Dean visited; finalising paperwork to move Trickster Treats to the bookshop, filling out bills for his old house and arguing with Kali over who should keep what; or just out, giving them some space. Dean had come to realise that Jess had been right, and really couldn’t blame Gabriel for being absent most of the time. For the brief period in time when Dean and Elsie lived with Sam and Jess, they had gone out as much as possible, or at least moved as far away from his brother’s bedroom as possible. Hearing your sibling going at it was one of the most horrific things anyone could experience. 

Dean drove Cas back, apologising for the fact that he had to rush off back to Jo and Elsie, as they were already an hour late. Cas promised to save the restaurant's tiramisu, and to bug his brother to make some as well, so they could have a taste test the next time Dean came over. 

They parted with a long hug, the kind so long that you start swaying with the other person and you feel their heart beat in tandem with yours. Cas rubbed his hands up and down Dean's bare back to keep him warm in the cool evening breeze and Dean nuzzled his cheek in return.

As Cas was breathing in Dean’s scent, he finally figured out what was so attractive about him, on top on the looks of course. Dean didn’t wear strong aftershave or eye-watering cologne. He smelt of drink and babies and gasoline, and Cas realised he never wanted to smell anything other than that for the rest of his life.


	14. "Tea makes everything better."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is exhausted and Cas looks after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Cas’s phone rang and he scrambled to find it. It was wedged between a book, the sofa and an empty mug that had once contained tea and now only had dried leaves and dregs, and Dean was calling. He'd come over for a couple of hours in the afternoon, like he always did on Saturday. So why was he calling at 8pm? 

“Dean? Is everything okay?” He blurted. 

Confused, Dean asked, “Yeah? Why do you sound so - " he yawned "- freaked?” 

Cas composed himself, picking up the book he’d strewn on the sofa when the phone had rung. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m not used to people calling unless it’s an emergency. You know, after Gabriel…” 

“I know,” said Dean softly. “I just wanted to ask if we could come over? I’m tired and Elsie should be sleepin' but she won't stop askin’ for you.” 

“Of course you can.” 

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, so much," he said sincerely. "I’ll see ya in twenty.” 

“I’ll be there,” Cas reassured, picking up his book and heading downstairs to read on the old leather sofa until Dean arrived. The low rumbling of Dean’s car brought him out of his fantasy world, and Cas put his book down, gently this time, to go and unlock the door 

Dean was carrying a (finally) sleeping Elsie, who had her arms around his neck. She stirred as Cas greeted them, mumbling something that sounded distinctly like “Caaaaaas.” 

“Yeah Pumpkin, it’s Cas,” Dean smiled, stepping inside the shop. "Hey." 

"Hello Dean." Cas locked the door again and picked up his book. He headed upstairs, Dean following. 

“What were you readin'?” Dean asked, shifting Elsie in his arms as they walked up the steep stairs. 

“A Dance With Dragons, George R. R. Martin. Have you read it?” 

Dean snorted. “I haven’t read a book since high school Cas.” There was a slight bitter tone to his voice. They went into Cas’s bathroom. 

“How can you not have read for that long?” Cas gasped. 

Dean shrugged, changing a sleepy Elsie into a diaper and her pajamas. “How can you read so much?” 

“This world is boring,” said Cas simply, perching on the edge of the sink. “’A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only once’,” he quoted. “I wanted to live a thousand lives, Dean.” 

Dean looked confused. 

“It’s a quote from George R. R. Martin, who wrote A Dance With Dragons,” Cas explained. 

Dean finally understood. “Game of Thrones? You read the books?” He looked amused. “I watch the series. Have you seen it?” 

Cas shook his head. 

“Right, that’s it. We’re havin' a Game of Thrones marathon,” Dean said, picking up Elsie and laying her down on the beanbag she had slept on last time. 

“Only if you read the books,” Cas retorted. 

“Fine,” Dean sighed, giving in easily. It wasn’t hard to give in to someone like Cas, with those Sam-like puppy eyes and that cute lip-biting thing he did, and especially considering Dean felt like he hadn't slept in a year. They wandered into the kitchen where someone had just started cooking. 

“Dean, this is Gabriel. Gabriel, Dean,” Cas introduced. 

Dean shook Gabriel’s hand, saying hi. He rubbed his eyes sleepily with his other hand. 

“Dean-o! I’ve heard so much about you!” Gabriel beamed, turning to Cas. “He’s just as gorgeous as you said he was,” he said in a stage whisper. 

Cas blushed and shoved his brother’s shoulder. “Shut up.” 

“Is pie good for you?” Gabriel asked. “It’s chicken and leek.” He moved to open the fridge and take out the ingredients. 

“Dude… pie is awesome,” Dean moaned happily, settling on the sofa. 

“Dean, would you like a drink?” Cas asked, opening the fridge to display an impressive collection of beers, and other bottles Dean didn’t really recognise. 

Dean shook his head blearily, pulling off his boots so he could curl up on the sofa. 

“Tea?” Cas asked. 

A tiny smile ghosted Dean’s face. “You’re such a hipster, you know that? But yeah, please.” 

“I hold a firm belief that tea makes everything better,” Cas explained, bustling around the kitchen. 

Dean burrowed into the soft sofa and closed his eyes. Later, he became aware of careful hands laying a blanket over him and gently stroking his legs. He slowly opened his eyes and sat up. Cas handed him a warm mug of tea with the leaves floating in it. 

“Whatsa time?” 

“It's just past nine. I made some more tea because yours went cold. The pie’s almost ready,” Cas said, sipping from his own refilled mug. “Are you okay?” 

Dean nodded, slurping his tea. “Jus’ tired.” He repositioned himself so he was leaning towards Cas. 

“That’s what they all say,” replied Cas. “What happened?” 

“Nothin' happened, jus' a stressful day.” Then, sensing Cas needed more details to stop worrying, he continued. “Band practice wasn’t good because we have the record company breathin' down our necks and I'm try'na organise a tour, but it's hard and so much work because we don't have an agent or someone to do that for us. And then Jess got outta hospital so I was running round all day helpin' her and Sam, and workin' my ass off for them while Elsie’s decidin' to have a day long tantrum." Dean's voice slurred with exhaustion. 

"Dean, I'm so sorry, that sounds horrible." 

"And Baby didn’t start in the mornin',” grumbled Dean. 

“Baby?” Cas asked. 

“My car.” 

Cas chuckled. “You call your car Baby?” 

Embarrassed, he said, “Don’t judge me,” and shook his head. He finished the tea and stood up. “Can I have a shower?” 

Cas nodded. “Of course, Dean. You don’t have to ask. Dinner will be ready when you finish.” 

The enticing smell of pie drew Dean from his hot shower. He emerged makeup-less, hair flat. No one had ever really seen him so dressed down, apart from maybe Lisa and Benny. 

“Hi,” Cas smiled, pulling out a chair at the table. It was only laid for two. Thankfully, he didn’t comment on Dean’s appearance. People often did, when they saw him in loose pajama bottoms and an oversized faded band t-shirt, without eyeliner or hair gel. Unbeknownst to him, Cas loved Dean, whatever he looked like. 

“Hey,” Dean murmured. “Where’s Gabe?” 

“He’s eating in his room. Something about not wanting to miss Dr Sexy MD…?” 

Dean’s face lit up. “He watches Dr Sexy?” 

Cas groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re a fan too. It’s all Gabriel can talk about at the moment.” 

“I… no. No. Not a fan,” Dean said. He tucked into the steaming pie on his plate. It was delicious and he wanted to savor every bite; that is, if he could keep his eyes open. “I hope it’s okay, I left some of my stuff in the bathroom," he yawned. He'd left a toiletries bag next to the other man's impressive collection of flavoured lipbalms. 

“I was hoping you would,” blushed Cas. “I cleared out a drawer for you,” he admitted. 

“Really?” Dean was touched. Cas actually wanted him around that much that he’d cleared a drawer out for him! No one had ever really done that for him, apart from Lisa. No one had ever wanted him this much, apart from Lisa. And he’d never been so in love with anyone so soon after meeting them... apart from Lisa. 

He really needed to stop comparing Cas to Lisa. 

Lisa was gone. 

She was dead. 

It was time to move on. 

After seconds of pie of Dean’s part, they snuggled up on Cas’s futon. (Dean would've usually gone for thirds, but he didn't want to doze off over his plate of pie and end up with more of it on his face and shirt than in his mouth.) The music of Game of Throne’s opening credits played from Cas’s laptop, filling the room. Ten minutes into the first episode, Cas was hooked and Dean was fast asleep, curled up around Cas, with Cas’s fingers running rhythmically through his hair.


	15. "Don't freak out."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snuggley mornings are the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Dean slowly became aware of someone stroking his forehead; fingers ghosting his skin. Later, much later, the sound of a book being read; the flick of pages being turned and the contented sigh of a reader. Too drowsy to open his eyes, he turned to lie on his side and cuddle closer to the warm body next to him, and he soon felt the hand return to his hair and forehead. 

Later, “Cas?” he blinked blearily. It was bright in the room. The futon was opposite the slanted attic wall, and the mid-morning Sunday sunshine was streaming through the window. Dean squinted at Cas, who seemed to have abandoned the book which was lying between them, and was caressing Dean’s head. 

His blue eyes sparkled in the yellow light as they studied Dean’s face 

“What’re you doin’?” Dean mumbled, slightly self-conscious. (He had a _massive_ pimple on his chin and no make-up on to cover it up.) 

Cas smiled shyly. “You have so many freckles.” 

Dean felt for Cas’s hand and their fingers intertwined over Dean’s messy blond hair. “Yeah…?” Dean whispered, his voice a little hoarse from sleep. 

“They’re like stars,” Cas said simply. “I like stars,” he added as a quiet afterthought. _I like you._

A smile filled Dean’s face and he cuddled up to Cas. Cas draped a heavy arm around him and Dean drifted back to sleep, letting the other man’s heat and the steady rising and falling of his chest lull him back to his dreams. Cas resumed his study of Dean’s face, and maybe there was a forehead kiss or two in there as well, but Dean was too out of it to tell. 

Dean woke with a jolt. “Cas, where’s Elsie?” He closed his eyes, the sunlight too bright. Cas really needed to invest in some curtains. (Or maybe some blinds; curtains were hard to put on a slanted window. Dean personally preferred curtains over blinds.) 

Cas was reading again, one arm holding the book and the other around Dean, his fingers gently rubbing the tattoos on Dean’s neck. His tongue was peeking out from between his soft lips as his eyes scanned the page. 

He folded down the corner of the page as he spoke. (Dean resisted shuddering at the act.) “She’s fine she’s with Gabriel. He made her breakfast and played games with her and now I think they’re watching a film. I checked on them about twenty minutes ago.” 

Dean sighed in relief and settled back down in the crook of Cas’s arm. “What time is it?” 

“Half past eleven,” Cas replied, placing the book on the floor and turning back to face Dean. 

Dean let out a whistle of air. “I haven’t slept in this long in, well kinda forever,” he said as he sat up. 

Cas turned away from Dean, fiddling with something on the floor. Dean couldn’t see what it was. “Well here’s to the first of many,” Cas said, pulling out a thermos flask and raising it in a sort of toast. He took a sip. 

He offered it to Dean, who took a long gulp. It was coffee; sweet and milky, how Cas liked it. Dean didn't mind, because he was sharing it with Cas. Anything tasted better when he shared it with Cas, and Dean wasn't one for sharing. They drank from the flask until it was empty, then ventured into the kitchen where there was a note on the oven reading , _“Cinnamon bums in oven – heat for 5 mins – G & E.”_

“Bums?” Dean chuckled. 

Cas shook his head, amused. “Gabriel… He means buns.” Cas switched on the oven and leant against it, savouring the warmth it let out. 

“He made us breakfast?” Dean asked, touched. 

"They," Cas corrected, pointing at the huge mess on the kitchen counters. Gabriel could not have made that on his own. 

Dean padded over to the Gabriel’s door and pushed it open to find the younger Novak brother fast asleep, with Elsie watching the TV on the wall next to him, completely engrossed. 

“Hi Munchkin. What’re you watchin’?” 

“Teletubbies!” She squealed, jumping up and rushing into Dean’s open arms. Dean chuckled, swinging her up into a hug. “Hey hey hey! Careful, Daddy just woke up.” He kissed her forehead. 

“Daddy breakfast,” she said. 

“You haven’t had breakfast?” Dean asked, studying her sticky face, which did taste vaguely of cinnamon. 

“I want more bweakfast,” 

“More breakfast please?” Dean corrected. 

“Please! More bweakfast pleeeeeeeeeease!” She whined. 

Dean chortled and carried her into the kitchen where Cas was pouring more coffee into two mugs. He poured out some orange juice for Elsie. The cinnamon buns were incredible; hot and sweet, sticky and chewy… If Dean didn’t have a raging crush on Cas, he might have married Gabriel just for his cooking. 

Cas broke the comfortable silence. “Dean, I was thinking,” he said as he finished his second bun. Dean looked up. “I could look after Elsie during the week? If you wanted me too.” 

What an offer! “I – Cas… that would be awesome!” Dean grinned, eyes lighting up. 

This would mean Elsie’s childcare would be constant and a lot less disruptive, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her getting in the way of Karen’s book, or Bess’s Saturday morning lie-in. And Jo wouldn’t have to take her along to The Roadhouse when Ellen needed her daughter’s help. Elsie would grow up in a much better environment; a bookshop. 

“Are you sure?” Dean asked, a niggling part of his brain telling him that Cas was only kidding. 

“Of course,” Cas replied, squashing Dean’s worries. “She obviously likes it here, and it would be more convenient for you.” 

“Likes it here? No, buddy, she loves it. She loves you.” Dean said. _I love you,_ he thought. 

They talked money for a while, boring though it was. Dean would spend less money paying Cas than he would paying Jo and Bess and Karen, because Cas wouldn’t accept anything over nine dollars an hour. Cas knew that Dean didn’t have much to give, and he himself didn’t need much to gain. He was happy living simply, and with the renovations they were planning to do soon, he was hoping to earn a lot more from the bookshop anyway. After breakfast and showers, they snuggled up on the sofa, and Cas continued running his hands through Dean’s hair until it stood on end and looked like he’d been electrocuted. Maybe he’d ditch the hair gel and get Cas to do this to him for hours on end. It achieved vaguely the same effect. 

Something caught Dean’s eye – a stack of flyers on the coffee table that he’d been too exhausted to notice yesterday. Dean reached for the pile and took the first leaf of paper. He found himself saying, without really realising, “Cas, I’ll do it.” 

“Do what?” Cas asked, confused. 

Dean held up the colourful flyer. He read the title aloud, “Bookshop assistant needed at Lawrence Bookshop.” He looked up and grinned toothily at the other man. “This. I’ll do it.” 

Cas’s mouth dropped open. “You’ll be my… you will?” 

“Yeah. If you’re looking after Elsie, I’ll give you a hand here, three days a week,” Dean offered. 

“Wow… thank you, Dean.” 

“But…” Dean paused dramatically, “This means you’ll only be looking after Elsie for two and a half days a week, so you gotta let me pay you at least twelve bucks an hour,” he said fairly. 

Cas started to protest, but Dean cut him off. “Nah-uh uh. Twelve bucks, okay?” Dean said firmly. “Hey wait, you put one of these in Bradbury’s right?” He asked, holding up the flyer again. 

Nodding, Cas said, “Along with all the other stores on the high street. No one has contacted me, apart from you. You’re the first.” He lay back down on the sofa, looking rather defeated at that fact. 

Dean bit his lip, his eyes dark and teasing. “Well, maybe… I should call this number,” he smirked, moving slowly towards Cas until he was almost lying on top of him, “And we can talk business...” he purred, his face now directly above Cas’s, and his body propped up on his elbows. 

Cas settled into Dean’s grip, glancing upwards and catching Dean’s piercing gaze. “We – we could talk about business… i-if you want?” He stuttered, unsure of where to look and where to put his hands. (Should he put them around Dean’s waist? Should he put them in Dean’s hair? Cas had no idea what he was doing…) 

Dean continued talking in that low, sultry voice. “Does, say… Tuesday Thursday Friday suit you?” His stare never left Cas’s face, and an amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

Cas mumbled, confused as to whether Dean was serious, or just flirting with him as a joke. “I - I – yes? I can pay you hal-” 

“Don’t freak out,” Dean instructed, cutting Cas off. He leant down, closing the gap between them. 

Then Castiel’s mind went blank as his world filled with hot wet lips and coffee tinged breath.


	16. Crying duvet superhero.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's having a tough evening, so Cas comes over to be big spoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!
> 
> Trigger warning: bereavement.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.

It had been a fucking miserable day. He’d had to say goodbye to Bobby and Karen for a while because he was quitting to go and work at the bookshop. And then there was the anniversary. Not a wedding anniversary, or a however-many-months-since-we-started-dating anniversary. No. Today, Friday 16th August 2013, was two years since… Lisa. 

After the whole day of Elsie whining and asking for Cas, (he’d looked after her the whole of yesterday whilst he’d been at Wednesday band practice and apparently she’d had a blast) Elsie was finally asleep. And Dean? He was lying in bed, sobbing his heart out. The mattress was peppered with used tissues and rolls of toilet paper; the duvet was tear-stained and snot-smeared, wrapped around his shoulders like a thick cape for some kind of crying duvet superhero. He’d stolen the pillows from the sofa to have something to hug; something to hold against his chest to prevent his heart from falling out. And he cried. 

He tried to be quiet for Elsie’s sake. He didn’t want to wake her. She didn’t really understand, poor thing. She’d only been a year old when Lisa had died, and she had no memories of her mom. Dean’s face crumpled yet again into a silent wail at that thought. Luckily Lisa had kept a memory box for Elsie to look at when she was older, with pictures and letters and a CD with videos of the two of them together, and videos of Lisa talking to the camera telling Elsie and Dean how much she loved them. Dean longed to watch them again, to hear her voice and see her beautiful, beautiful face. He longed to watch her wrap his arms around his waist and kiss him, so he could, if he concentrated hard enough, imagine her strong arms and her flowery scent embracing him now. But the videos were stuck on the CD, and he had no way of viewing them. They weren’t rich enough to own a laptop or DVD player for fuck’s sake. 

She had been prepared for disaster, that’s why she’d made the box. She had known that being an FBI agent was a high risk job. Dean had known too, of course, but he never thought anything would happen to their sweet, tiny family. No one ever thinks it’s going to happen to them. Dean gulped. 

From somewhere under the pile of bedclothes, dirty tissues and Lisa’s jumpers that no longer carried the ghost of her scent, Dean’s phone rang. He sniffed and scrambled to find it; throwing everything off the bed and flinging pillows in the air. 

It wasn’t Sam calling, because Dean had set his ringtone to play ‘Heat of the Moment’ by Asia when his brother called, just because Sam hated the song so much it made Dean laugh. Sam had already called three times today, and eventually Dean had told him to fuck off and let him mourn. He didn’t need Sam worrying over him, babying him, patronising him. He needed Lisa. 

The person rang again. It was ten at night. _Who the fuck calls at ten? That’s just rude,_ Dean thought angrily. He finally found his phone and answered. 

_”…Hello?”_ Came Cas’s voice. He sounded excited. 

“Hey Cas,” Dean replied slowly, trying to make his voice not wobble. 

_”Dean! Sorry it’s so late I just got really excited about this tattoo idea I had and I wanted your opinion,”_ Cas gabbled. _“I know what you are going to say, I’m such a ‘hipster’ (which I'm not) but I really want an arrow on my wrist with the fletching trailing off into a quote. What do you think?”_ Dean could hear the grin in his voice. 

“It sounds great, Cas,” Dean said weakly, sniffing inadvertently. 

Cas’s voice mellowed and Dean could picture his smile melting away into a concerned squint. _“Dean, are you okay?”_

“’M fine,” he responded curtly. 

_“You sound like you’re crying,”_ stated Cas, and Dean heard him slurp a drink: tea, probably. Cas always seemed to have a cup of tea or coffee in his hands. 

“I…urgh… I have a cold,” Dean lied, but he could tell Cas didn’t believe him. 

He heard rustling in the background, then Cas said, _“Do you want me to come over?”_

Dean’s heart jumped at the thought of Cas, but then the guilt came crashing back as he gripped the picture frame and stared at the happy Lisa and smiling, tufty-haired baby Elsie, frozen in time. He whimpered and one tear rolled slowly down his damp cheek, pooling on his lip. He didn’t want to betray Lisa, but at the same time, he didn’t know whether he could survive the night alone. 

“I don’t want you to catch it,” he said feebly. 

_“Dean, I’m not an idiot. Do you want me to come over?”_

“…Yeah…p-please…” Dean whispered, his voice tear-stricken. 

_“I’ll have to cycle, so I’ll be there in half an hour, okay? Please stay safe while you’re waiting for me.”_

“Okay,” Dean said shakily. “I’ll text you my address.” 

_“I lo-”_ Cas cleared his throat and corrected himself. _"I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”_

“Thank you,” Dean mumbled. 

Cas was about to hang up when Dean said, “Wait wait Cas. Can you bring your laptop, please?” 

Cas didn’t question him, and rushed downstairs to find his bike. He was stomping back upstairs to grab his laptop and coat, which he’d forgotten, when Gabriel came out of his room and asked him where he was going. Cas explained the situation. 

“I’ll drive you. Why didn’t you ask?” Gabriel looked at him like he was stupid. Sure, Cas didn’t know how to drive, but Gabriel did. 

“It didn’t cross my mind, Gabriel,” Cas replied. 

Gabriel was fumbling around in the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers. 

“Gabriel what are you doing? My friend is having a _crisis._ Hurry up.” 

“Boyfriend,” the younger Novak countered. 

Cas chose to ignore him. “Come _on!_ ” He shouted. 

Gabriel hurried out of the kitchen, tissues and Tupperware boxes in hand. He shoved them onto Cas’s lap as he started the car and put Dean’s address into the Satnav. 

Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. Dean dragged himself out of bed and slumped down the hallway. He opened the door to find Cas standing there holding a massive pack of tissues and two plastic boxes, a book bag slung over his shoulder. The cool night air rustled Dean's pajama bottoms. 

Cas looked momentarily surprised at Dean’s appearance. Dean was makeup-less, hair sticking everywhere, and his eyes and nose were tomato-red. He was wearing loose stripy pajama bottoms and a large turquoise t-shirt with a big love-heart in the corner which said 1.1.1996, the date he and Lisa had first started dating. They’d been at a New Year’s party and had been flirting the entire evening. When the countdown had started they’d grinned and blushed awkwardly, as seventeen year olds do, and shared a drunken New Year’s kiss. A hung-over Lisa had asked an equally hung-over Dean out soon the next day, and they’d been together ever since. Well, ever since that night exactly two years ago, when Lisa had fallen to the ground with five bullets in her body. Dean’s world fell to the ground too, shattering into tiny fragments. And mostly those pieces were so sharp that he didn’t pick them up, in case they cut his fingers and scratched his heart. 

Cas dropped the tissues and boxes and (carefully placed) the bag containing his laptop on the floor, and pulled Dean into the tightest hug Dean had ever experienced. Dean had just about been able to hold it together to open the door, but in Cas’s arms, breathing in his musky scent of books and tea, he couldn’t do it any longer. He collapsed onto Cas’s body, and Cas held him, stroking his hair and murmuring soothing words Dean couldn’t hear over his tears. 

Eventually they went inside, and Dean curled up on his bed. There were no tears anymore, just the crushing, suffocating sadness. The familiarity of it was somewhat comforting. 

Cas disappeared and reappeared with the boxes. He opened one of them and held it out to Dean. “Brownie?” he asked. 

Dean took one gratefully, and was about to take a bite when he said, “These are normal brownies, right?” 

“Normal?” Cas looked quizzical. 

“Not drugged,” Dean explained. 

Cas looked vaguely horrified. “No! I would never…. But then again, Gabriel made these, so I’m not sure.” 

Dean chuckled quietly and took a huge bite. He leant his head against Cas’s shoulder as they slowly worked their way through the entire box of brownies. 

Stuffed, Dean lay down, pushing the crumbs and soiled tissues off the bed. “C’mon, I want to be the little spoon,” he said, patting the space next to him. 

Cas smiled and shuffled next to him, wrapping his arm around Dean’s waist and softly kissing the nape of Dean’s neck, humming contently.


	17. “Angel.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's three a.m. and Dean's crying. Cas tells Dean about his childhood over hot chocolate and cold lamb curry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!
> 
> Trigger warnings: self harm, cutting, scars, urges to self harm, bullying, referenced sexual abuse and child abuse. Most of this chapter is one big trigger, I'm sorry.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury, abuse, or any of the other triggers mentioned above.

Dean dozed off sometime around midnight. Cas kept his hand tangled in the mess of blond hair next to him, stroking little circles on the other man’s scalp. Dean sighed happily in his sleep, leaning closer to Cas. 

Cas wasn’t even aware that he himself had fallen asleep until he felt the body next to him shake with gulping sobs. Cas’s eyes snapped open. Dean was curled into a foetal position, hugging his knees and crying. He was completely unaware that Cas was awake. 

“Hey,” Cas said, for something to say. His hand hovered over Dean’s shoulder, unsure as to whether he should comfort him or just let him cry. Dean wasn’t really the type to let people look after him. 

“Hey,” Cas repeated softly. _Fuck it,_ he thought, staring at his own quivering hand. He rubbed Dean’s back. 

Dean rolled over, eyes still squeezed shut. He fumbled blindly for the man next to him and his hands grabbed at Cas’s black long sleeved t-shirt. He buried his face in Cas’s chest and felt Cas’s strong arms wrap around his neck. Cas smelt like candles and cakes and musty books and that weird loose-leafed tea he drank when it got too late for coffee. He smelt nice, but he didn’t smell of Lisa. 

There was a bottle of Lisa’s old perfume in the bathroom cabinet that Dean had kept locked away after she’d died, so that he could move on. He should have chucked it, but it was comforting to know that it was always there, even if he prevented himself from smelling it. He’d managed, somehow, to refrain from opening it a year ago, but today he’d given in. 

And he’d cried. Cried because it didn’t smell like Lisa at all. It smelt of chemicals and artificial flowers. Lisa had smelt of so much more than just that perfume. She’d smelt of shampoo and baby food, of that orange shower gel she’d loved. Her hands had smelt of guns and WD-40, her breath of caramel lattes and a mint that had failed overpower the coffee. She’d smelt of sweat and smiles and love, and _fuck_ Dean missed it. Her. 

It was three a.m. Only when Dean’s tears had slowed to a trickle did he open his eyes. Cas pushed tissue after tissue into his hands until the dark blue bedspread was sprinkled with so many Kleenexes that it resembled a clear, starry night. 

“Go and splash cold water on your face,” Cas murmured, nudging Dean off the bed. 

Dean stood up, the room spinning for a second or two. He stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the tap without switching on the light. He already knew he looked like death; he didn’t need confirmation from the mirror. 

When he emerged, face slightly less puffy and red, the bed was empty. 

“Cas?” He croaked. 

“I’m in the kitchen,” Cas called back quietly, hoping they weren’t going to wake Elsie. 

There was a pan of water boiling on the stove. (Dean didn’t have one of those expensive hot water machines or kettles like Cas did.) Cas’s sleeves were rolled up. He was washing two mugs. He turned to find a dishcloth to dry them. And his sleeved were rolled up. 

Dean knew he shouldn’t have stared, but it was three a.m. and he forgot. He forgot. He gulped. Cas’s arms were riddled with scars. 

Cas’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t do anything about it because he was holding a mug in each hand. The water dripped loudly onto the floor. 

“Cas, I-” Dean started. He should’ve seen that Cas was washing up and waited until he was done, because no one washes up with their sleeves down. But he hadn’t been thinking. His head was stuffy and it was three in the morning for god’s sake. 

Cas was beetroot. “Don’t…” he said weakly. He placed the mugs on the counter and pushed his sleeves back down. 

Dean swallowed. “Okay... Okay.” 

They were silent for a while. Cas made them hot chocolate, because Dean didn’t have any tea. They opened the other Tupperware box to find a lamb curry, cold, which they supposed to have opened first and eaten for dinner instead of the brownies. They ate the curry cold, straight out of the box. 

“I was twelve.” Cas said after a while, licking the spoon free of curry and sipping his hot chocolate. (Somehow, the two flavours went well together.) Dean looked up from his mug. “Balthazar was seventeen and he’d just started shaving. One day he’d left his razor out, and I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour because I thought I deserved it.” 

Dean didn’t say anything. 

“I urgh... I lived in a children’s home until I was sixteen,” Cas continued, avoiding eye contact with Dean. “My dad left us there when I was two, right after Gabriel was born. Balthazar was seven. I don’t know anything about my mother. I don’t even know her name… My father died nine years later in a drunken car accident. He was a no-show, meth addict, but highly religious, hence our names. I think I saw him three times after he left us at the home. Three times in nine years.”

“I know how that feels,” Dean muttered. “My father was an obsessed bastard. All he cared about was his work, and when he didn’t find the right stuff or he got fired, he’d take off his belt and-” Dean flinched. “When he wasn’t around and when Sammy was asleep, I didn’t even need that goddamn belt to make me feel as shit as he did. He gave us _knives_ to protect ourselves.” Dean smiled sickly. “I made my first sawed-off shotgun when I was in sixth grade.” 

“Oh my fu..” Cas whispered. He moved to stand next to Dean, who was sitting on the kitchen counter. 

Dean gave a little, irrational laugh. “Oh there was no shortage of sharp things around. That’s why I got all these tattoos in the first place, to cover all the scars up.” The lightness of his tone scared Cas. 

“That’s why I want a one,” Cas said. “To cover these up.” 

Nervously, he rolled up his sleeves to show Dean both of his arms. Dean stared. His own arms started to tingle and itch. 

Cas pointed to one on his left wrist that was white and puffy. It was the biggest and most obvious scar Cas had; the deepest and the one that held the most painful memories. “This one in particular. I was fifteen.” He gulped, throat dry and sticky. The hot chocolate suddenly tasted sour. 

“I was bullied by these other kids in the home: Malachi, April, and a guy named Curtis but you had to call him Metatron otherwise he’d hit you.” Cas said slowly. “I never called him Metatron. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.” 

Dean snorted. “Did all the kids have weird names in this home?” 

“They were given them by Bart – Bartholomew and Naomi. They ran the home. If a child had a 'sinner’s name', they’d change it. I guess ours were weird enough for Bart. Castiel is the name of an-” 

“Angel.” Dean finished. Cas looked at him strangely. 

“I love your name.” Dean said soppily. Then he grinned. “Go on,” he said. 

“Anyway, Bart and Naomi happened to have the same strange taste in names as my dad. Malachi was their biological son, and because he was friends with April and Curtis, they all got special treatment and could get away with murder." Cas let out a huge breath. "They bullied all the other kids in the home. There were twenty of us in total and whenever potential foster parents came over there would be a stampede. I got fostered when I was fourteen, but it wasn’t any better than the home. The - the couple was a-abusive. S-sexually.” 

Dean leaned down and kissed the top of Cas’s head. “Oh god... Cas.” 

“I ran away and called the police after they-” Cas let out a shuddery gasp. Dean slipped off the counter to embrace Cas. 

“A-after they-” 

Dean shook his head. “Shh… you don’t have to tell me.” 

Cas’s voice was two octaves higher. “Okay,” he nodded, his voice wavering as hot, fat tears rolled down his face and onto Dean's garishly bright turquoise t-shirt. They broke apart and sat on the kitchen floor, cradling their hot mugs. 

Cas continued. “I – I was sixteen when Gabriel and I ran away from the home. Balthazar was too old to live there, so he helped us escape in the middle of the night. We packed Balthazar’s car with enough food and drink for a week and we drove to Vegas. We were halfway there by the time anyone realised we were gone.” 

“Why Vegas?” Dean asked, slurping his hot chocolate. 

“We were young and stupid, and Gabriel wanted to show off his card tricks.” Cas chuckled wetly. “And we knew they'd never come looking for us. We were just extra mouths to feed. After a couple of weeks, Balthazar applied for a job at the local newspaper, and Gabriel and I finished school. By the time I graduated high school, Balthazar was working all over the West Coast. When Gabriel graduated, he was working all over the states, and he’d made friends with this guy in Kansas who owned a bookshop, so we moved here. I helped out in the store and Gabriel helped out in the bakery two blocks away.” 

“And then you took over here, and Gabe took over the bakery?” Dean guessed, finishing Cas’s story for him. 

Cas nodded. He started to roll his sleeves down, but Dean cupped his face and stroked his exposed arms, feeling every bumpy scar. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he whispered. He leant forward until their noses were touching and they were breathing the same air. 

“That’s okay,” Cas whispered back. 

Dean bit his lip. “Cas, do you think about me as much as I think about you?” 

“I think so,” Cas murmured. 

Dean blinked. 

Cas swallowed. “Yes,” he corrected. “Yes, I do. Of course I do.”


	18. And his world came crashing down.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's still teary when they wake up, and Cas is a cutie (as usual).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: bereavement.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.

They went back to bed around half past four to cuddle in a more comfortable place than the cold kitchen floor. Cas floated between sleep and barely-consciousness. Dean cried. Cried into Cas’s strong arms that kept his heart from falling out of his chest. 

Elsie woke at six and clambered into bed with them. She squirmed and she kicked off the duvet, but Dean pulled her in close and nuzzled into her soft, chocolate brown curls. Her deep blue eyes met his red-rimmed ones. 

“Daddy why are sad?” She asked innocently, her little hand reaching up to stroke his face. She giggled at the sensation of his stubble on her fingertips. “Scwatchy!” She laughed, and the sound of it lightened the mood in the room, just a little. 

Dean let out a tired chuckle. “You think I need to shave, bubba?” 

Elsie nodded enthusiastically. “Too scwatchy,” she said. “Daddy have to shave.” 

Next to them, Cas huffed and rolled over, opening one bright blue eye. “No. I like the stubble, Dean,” he said gruffly. He reached out his hand to touch Dean’s, which was resting on the damp pillow, and closed his eye again. Dean felt the grip on his hand go lax as Cas drifted back to sleep. 

“Daddy why sad?” Elsie repeated. At three, she’d already sussed that Dean changed the subject whenever feelings got too difficult. 

Dean’s grip tightened on Cas’s hand. After a few seconds, Cas squeezed back, though his eyes were still closed and his breathing heavy. 

“Elsie, I love your mommy. And I – I miss her.” He sniffed and bit his lip, eyes swimming with tears. 

One tear escaped and trickled slowly down the side of his face. Elsie leaned forward, her lips pursed. She planted a huge sloppy kiss on his cheek, covering the one tear. 

Dean sniffed and smiled. “I love you baby. And your mom loved you so much too.” 

“I love you too daddy,” she said, kissing his face again, except she missed his cheek and the slobbery kiss landed on Dean’s eye. 

Dean made them breakfast and lots and lots of coffee. He wasn’t twenty anymore: being awake at three a.m. no longer did much for him. It was over a second mug of coffee (Dean’s black, no sugar, Cas’s with milk and honey, which Dean indulged in taking a sip of, purely because it was _Cas’s_ ) that Cas brought up the laptop. It was sitting by the door where he’d left it last night, along with another box of tissues. 

Now Dean had calmed down, he was less sure about watching the videos, especially with Cas and Elsie around. He didn’t want to open freshly healed wounds. He also reckoned he was all cried-out, but he soon found out that was not the case. 

He was curled up in bed with Elsie in his lap while Cas washed up after breakfast. There were thirty minutes worth of video on the CDs in the memory box. The first was filmed on April 15th 2010 – five days after Elsie was born. 

_Sam’s filming. It’s a little jerky, and the quality isn’t all that great, but it’s easy enough to make out what’s happening. Lisa looks exhausted. She’s lying on a hospital bed with Dean’s arm wrapped around her protectively, and she’s holding Elsie for the first time. Dean is crying. Lisa is crying. The camera shakes and it’s evident that Sam’s crying. Elsie is hooked up to a machine to keep her stable after the infection she contracted when she was born. Her parents had been able to see her in ICU and then in an incubator, but they hadn’t been able to hold her until Elsie was five days old and they were sure she was going to be okay, and that Lisa (who had had thirty stitches) would be strong enough to hold her. Up until then, it had all been very touch and go. The moment, the moment of finally touching their_ daughter _had been delayed, and now it’s here… it’s now… and they’re so happy. New-born Elsie gives a mewl and then a full blown cry. Lisa starts to feed her, and Sam stops filming._

Dean had silent tears streaming down his face. He clutched onto three-year-old Elsie, who had asked, “Is that mommy?” throughout the entire video. 

_The next few videos are of Elsie and Lisa asleep on the sofa; Elsie and Lisa playing on the swings in the park, Elsie and Dean and Lisa on her first birthday…_

_The last video is the beginning of August, 2011. They're down at Lisa’s parents for the summer, and Elsie is loving it. They have a paddling pool, a trampoline and best of all, a dog: a black cockapoodle who’s just a puppy and whose name is Tillie. Dean hates dogs, but Elsie is mad about them. The last shot is of Lisa holding Elsie in one arm and the dog in the other, and both of them are laughing hysterically. The camera’s shaking because Dean is laughing too. No one’s crying this time. Not yet._

 _Then, the next day, Lisa gets a call. She’s needed on an FBI case – a killer they’ve been trying to track for years. They’re used to her having to drop everything and run to work. It’s fine. It’s all okay. Until the 16th of August. And his phone rang. And his world came crashing down._

After the last video, Elsie ran off to play with her train set without noticing her father’s tears. Cas came into the bedroom quickly afterwards. Dean was sat upright in the bed, eyes closed and shaking with silent, gulping sobs. 

The crying didn’t last long this time, and when he was done, Cas said, “I’m so, so sorry Dean.” 

“S’okay Cas,” Dean murmured in a snotty reply. 

Cas paused, hand stroking Dean’s thigh. “I mean it. I’m sorry I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know to help. How to make it better.” 

“You can’t. That’s the point of grieving, you can’t do anything. It sucks.” 

“Time does heal, Dean.” Cas said, rubbing Dean’s jittery leg. 

“Bullshit.” 

There was a long silence. “I may not be able to carry the grief, but I can carry you,” Cas said quietly. 

Dean grinned, wiping his eyes. “I love it when you quote Lord of the Rings at me.” 

“I know you do,” Cas replied. 

“I’m sorry too, you know,” Dean said slowly. “For having so much… baggage.” 

Cas sighed and rolled his eyes. He silenced Dean with a long, loving kiss. It was unpracticed and awkward, with nose bumping and giggling. “Everyone had baggage, Dean. The trick is to find someone to help you unpack it all.” 

“Like you?” Dean asked. 

Cas reassured him with another, deeper and less awkward kiss. “Like me,” he said into Dean’s lips, gasping just a little as Dean’s hands found their way into his hair. 

The make-out session was short: steamy and erotic, but short. The day beckoned. The Hunters were practicing without Dean today, so he had a full morning for himself and Elsie. And Cas. They were going for lunch at Sam and Jess’s at midday, and would probably stay for dinner too; if they didn’t rush off to the bookshop see Cas. However Cas insisted that Dean spend some proper time with his family, and that they should see each other on Sunday. 

In all truthfulness, Cas really didn’t want to leave Dean, but he had a bookshop to run. He'd started staying open on Sundays, really because he had nothing better to do. Not that being open ever did anything extra for business, but it was nice to try. He also wanted the evening to himself so he could catch up on bills, which he’d never get done with a certain hot, tattooed and often quite horny Winchester in his apartment. 

But it wasn’t all bad. He’d left his pajamas and toothbrush in a drawer in Dean’s bedroom that had been specially cleared out for him, which, according to Gabriel, meant that the relationship was serious. Cas had already shared his deepest secrets with Dean, cried with Dean, laughed with Dean, kissed Dean. He didn’t need a drawer to tell him it was serious, but the gesture was much appreciated. 

And the best thing? Dean had asked what Cas’s favourite song was, so he could put it as his ringtone for when Cas called. Cas didn’t have a _favourite_ song per say, but he took Dean’s phone and put in a song he thought would make Dean smile. It was a good song, but he refused to let Dean find out what it was. He would just have to wait until Cas called.


	19. But I love you too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's lunch at Sam and Jess's, and Dean gets reacquainted with his old friend, whiskey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!
> 
> Reference to [Twist and Shout](http://archiveofourown.org/works/537876?view_full_work=true) If you are a recent veteran of this fic, you may tear up. Or you may not. Disclaimer: I do not own Twist and Shout.
> 
> Trigger warning: alcohol abuse, alcoholism
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating alcohol abuse.

The sticky August heat often bought lazy summer afternoons by the pool at Sam and Jess’s, and today was no different. Dean, with Elsie perched on his shoulders, let himself in through the front gate and walked around the house to the garden. Jess was lying on the sun lounger with a book in hand, while Sam laid the table and manned the grill. 

Elsie wriggled and slid off Dean’s shoulders into his arms. He put her down gently and let her run over to Jess, who held out her arms at the toddler running towards her. 

“Hey sweetie! How’s my favourite niece today?” She beamed as Elsie jumped into her lap to pepper her auntie with kisses. “Careful, careful,” she reminded the three year old, pointing at her stomach. She had just started to show, and Sam had gotten very protective of ‘bump’, as they were now calling their baby. He refused to let Jess rush around setting up lunch when it was one of the few days she wasn’t spending with her head in the toilet bowl. 

“I’m okay but daddy is sad.” Elsie said matter-of-factly. 

Jess’s smile faded slightly. “He misses your mommy,” she replied. “We all do,” she added quietly, shifting Elsie off of her lap so she could stand to hug Dean, who was talking to his brother. 

“I mean, you finally look like a human being again,” Dean was smirking, tugging on Sam’s now ear-length hair. “You shouldn’t wait so long between hair cuts, you cheap son of a-” and here he whispered, conscious of Elsie, “bitch.” 

Sam groaned, punching his brother lightly on the shoulder. “Stop quoting Clint Eastwood films at me and help lay the table,” he instructed, shoving a bowl of salad into Dean’s arms. 

Dean grinned. “S’there anything other than rabbit food, Samantha?” He asked jokingly. 

“’Course there is. We made you your favourite: cheeseburgers, wedges and pie,” Sam called as he went back inside to take the meat out of the fridge, which was the last thing to cook before lunch was ready. Dean followed his brother to the barbecue, bottle of sauce in hand. 

“You wanna coffee?” Sam asked above the sizzling burgers. “I can make some if you want some.” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean replied. 

Sam turned to scrutinise his brother. “Are you sure? You look like you didn’t sleep at all last night.” 

“I said I’m fine, Sam,” Dean said curtly, squeezing the barbecue sauce on forcefully over the burgers. Too much came out. It splattered onto the hot coals and sent smoke into his face. He closed his eyes in frustration, cheeks burning under Sam's gaze. _C’mon Dean, don’t cry over sauce. Don’t cry over some fucking sauce._

Sam started to protest, waving the tongs he was holding. “Dean, you’re not -” 

Dean huffed, trying not to snap at his brother. He was only trying to help for god’s sake. But really, what had made Dean feel better was sitting on his kitchen floor at three a.m. with cocoa and lamb curry, and… sleeping next to a certain Castiel. (Not cuddling. Dean didn’t do cuddling.) He took a deep breath. “Sammy, please. Leave me al-” 

“Okay! Okay. but if you want to go and have a nap that’s fine,” Sam persisted; hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean squirmed under his brother’s caring touch. His voice was low and warning. “Sammy…” 

Sam flipped the burgers. “Dean, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Dean breathed a calculated sigh. “Sam, I really appreciate …” he gestured around him “… all of this. Really. But I just want to have a normal lunch, so please, lay off. And stop with the puppy eyes, man.” 

Sam’s eyes softened even further; extreme puppy eyes mode. Dean glared back. Sam’s eyes narrowed. 

“Jerk,” Sam scowled. 

Dean shoved his brother on the shoulder. “Bitch.” 

Lunch went smoothly. The burgers were delicious, as was the pecan pie, which Jess had bought from the local grocery store. (It wasn’t as good as Gabriel’s, but nothing was ever as good as Gabriel’s.) Jess raised an eyebrow at the volume of beer Dean was drinking, but kept quiet. 

It wasn’t a secret that the elder Winchester had had more than a few drinking problems before Elsie was born. The alcohol consumption always increased around Lisa’s death. Jess assumed, like last year, he would make a beeline for the whiskey and get blind drunk, just to forget about it all. Unhealthy, but she couldn’t really blame him. She would have done the same. She’d witnessed Sam do the same when things got too much for him. 

Indeed, the beer soon went back in the fridge and Dean moved towards the bottle of whiskey in the cupboard. He poured Sam a glass, who refused initially. ‘It’s only two o’clock Dean,” he protested weakly. 

This time it was Dean’s turn to put on the puppy eyes, and Sam soon gave in to one glass. By six o’clock, when the sky was on the brink of twilight and Dean was on his fifth glass, his phone vibrated. It was some strange piano music, quiet and old-sounding. Then a man’s voice started singing, loud, piercing and strangely moving. 

_Wise men say… only fools rush in…_

It was Cas. Dean fumbled around with the buttons, eventually managing to pick up the phone. 

“Yeah?” He answered, clearing his throat. 

“Hello Dean. How are you?” 

“‘M fine Cash,” Dean sighed, tired of hearing the question. And Did he just say _Cash_ instead of Cas? It didn’t take as much to get him drunk as it used to. 

There was a smirk of I-don’t-believe-you-and-we-both-know-it in the reply. “Of course you are.” 

“Mmmhmm.” Dean took another sip of drink, swirling around in his mouth and feeling it burn his throat on the way down. 

“Did you like the song I set as your ringtone?” Cas asked, hopeful. 

“Yeah… I… what wassit?” Dean slurred. 

“It was -” he paused, finally realising Dean was drunk. “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You. Elvis. Are you drunk?” 

“Mmmhmm,” was the reply he got. Then, “Cas. I… Loveyou.” 

There was a long, long silence. Too long. Dean heard Cas take five deep breaths and clear his throat. The words _loveyou, loveyou, loveyou_ , said too quickly and slurred together repeated in Dean’s drink stained head. 

“I – I … Okay. You’re drunk Dean, go to sleep.” Cas flustered. _But I love you too. I love you so fucking much it makes my heart ache._

“‘Stoo early t’sleep, Cash, 's only six, tha's before Elsie's bedtime. Ca’I come over? I want you.” 

Cas’s heart did a funny flip in his chest. Dean _wanted_ him? Wanted him how? “I would very much like that, but it sounds like you should stay where you are. I don’t want you getting into an accident.” 

“I – Sammy can drive. Want you.” Dean repeated. He looked around for his brother. “Sammy!” he called, vowels slurring and voice cracking. But Sam was inside with Jess and Elsie and couldn’t hear a thing. Dean was outside, alone, with a half empty bottle as his only company. 

Cas put his foot down firmly. “No, Dean, I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Bu-But I-” Dean whined, taking another sip of whiskey and letting the burn trickle down his throat. 

“No. Goodbye Dean. I-” Cas cleared his throat. 

Dean’s tone was a tad menacing, butting into the silence Cas had left. “Say it.” 

“I love you,” Cas blurted. And with that, he quickly hung up, his pulse racing. 

Dean put his phone down carefully and started racking his brains for the soppiest love song he knew, which he would put as Cas's ringtone for when he called Cas. It was a thing now; that is, if Dean’s alcohol riddled brain would let him remember any songs names.


	20. Cas was not a morning person.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Cas, Michael, Gabriel and Benny renovate the bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Monday started off a lot better than Sunday, when Dean had stumbled to the bathroom and puked his guts out into Sam and Jess’s toilet. He had spent Sunday hungover, queasy and miserable. Elsie had stayed with Sam and Jess while Dean dragged himself to Cas’s, who closed the bookshop because Dean was a lot more important than the zero customers he was going to have that day. They watched reruns of Dr Sexy MD until Dean fell asleep, woozy and teary-eyed in Cas’s lap. 

Monday was already looking much better that Sunday when he woke up in Cas’s bed; a tangle of warm limbs pinning him down. Even if he was jolted from sleep by Cas’s alarm clock beeping rudely next to the futon, Monday was faring better. 

Cas groaned and muttered something incomprehensible. He wrapped his arms tighter around Dean and buried his head into the pillow, attempting to block out the early morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Dean turned off the alarm clock and rubbed a hand over his face. Seven a.m. 

“Must get some fucking blinds,” Cas grumbled into the pillow. 

“Mmhmm,” Dean replied, kissing the mop of dark hair next to him. “C’mon, big day today.” 

Cas cocked his head and opened his eyes, squinting in the bright morning light. “Wha-?” 

“We’re giving the place a makeover, stupid,” Dean laughed. 

Cas mumbled something along the lines of, “so fucking early,” though his mouth was full of pillow, so Dean couldn’t be sure. 

Evidently, when there wasn’t a three year old to look after, or a crying Dean to comfort, Cas was not a morning person. He wasn’t more than a zombie until there were two cups of coffee in his system. His hair stuck up at every angle, his voice was hoarse and gravelly, and every other word seemed to be ‘fuck’. 

Dean, accustomed to early mornings, put on some toast and coffee and rapped his knuckles on Gabriel’s closed door to wake the younger Novak. Over breakfast, Cas slowly woke up and his eyes began to sparkle when he saw just how excited Dean was about renovating the bookshop. Gabriel remained in a half-asleep daze until he had a cold shower to wake himself up. 

After breakfast, they began by taking down all of the bookshelves and stacking them in a corner. When the room was no longer divided by IKEA shelving units, Dean could see it was a large square. The walls were a simple white, dirty with old age, and the carpet a patchy faded blue. It took them until lunchtime to paint a white undercoat on all four of the walls. 

With the aid of two expert removal men and his friend Michael, Gabriel was able to bring in the ovens and kitchen equipment from what had been Trickster Treats. They set up the new bakery against the large window that backed onto the street, meaning that passers by would be tempted in by cakes as well as books. The ovens, proofing drawers, cupboards, fridges and other kitchen equipment rested under the waist-high work surfaces and made three sides of a square, over which Gabriel would be able to serve customers. To finish, Cas handwrote two menus in his beautiful, cursive hand, which they hung on either side of the café. 

They moved the old coffee machine upstairs and bought a fancy new one, which made teas, hot chocolate and five types of coffee, which they would give out for free. Customers, especially the regulars they would soon gain, often left change on top of the machine, so Dean and the Novaks soon gave in, leaving a wooden donations box next to the machine to save the piles of coins from spilling onto the floor. 

Gabriel also bought a sandwich machine and smoothie maker to balance out the customers’ diet of cakes, biscuits and pastries, though these he placed behind the counter so they would actually make some money off of the café. As winter neared, they would swap out the sandwiches and smoothies for soups and pies. 

The next day, once the white undercoat paint had dried, they painted the kids’ section a subtle yellow, and the teen section a baby blue, leaving the other sections white and crisp. Then it was time to build two walls in the corner of the shop to form the quiet area. Gabriel and Cas, who had no knowledge of construction, let experienced Michael and Dean take over this task. It took all day, but by the end of Tuesday, there was a little soundproof corner for those customers who wanted a quieter, more conservative library. Later, when the bookshop business was booming, they would extend the collection of furniture in the silent corner, adding some desks and chairs to the pre-existing armchairs so that people could come and work. This proved especially popular once exam season came around. 

On Wednesday, they painted second and third coats, and stripped out the old carpet to reveal beautiful wooden floorboards underneath. It was Thursday, halfway through their week of renovating, when Dean was really in his element: it was time to decorate. The five of them, Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Michael and also Benny; who was able to take some time off work at Bradbury’s, started on the kids’ section. It was in the same place it had been beforehand, but they had moved the reception desk to the wall opposite so that Dean and Cas could keep an eye on Elsie as she frolicked among the beanbags and stuffed toys. 

Not long after they had started painting, dragons and princesses, gruffalos and hungry caterpillars, wild things and cats in hats started taking shape on the walls. The teenage section was much the same: characters from popular series such as Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, Divergent, The Hunger Games, and The Fault in Our Stars appeared on the walls in quick, deft strokes. 

They left the walls of other sections plainer, more traditional. But this was going to be no traditional bookshop. There were beanbags and armchairs in every corner, Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling and draped over bookshelves. Cas painted signs on the walls saying, “Books are your friends: treat them nicely,” and “No crumbs please!” next to a Hansel and Gretel scene which Dean had painted, featuring a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a Pied Piper and rats scene. “A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only once. – George R. R. Martin” graced the wall behind the reception desk. 

Next to most of the seating were little makeshift coffee tables. Some were actually tables, some just old hardback books that Cas had too many duplicates of; stacked on top of one another with a tray on the top, all bound together with rope from Bobby’s garage. There were lamps to read by and extension cables so people could charge their phones. Cas had even given in to Dean’s persuasion to join the twenty first century and make a Kindle area on an old table. There were three Kindle chargers for people to use and ‘top ten downloads this month’ lists, as well as vouchers customers could redeem if they bought a certain number of cakes at the café. 

Every day, Elsie came to visit with Karen, as she was babysitting Elsie during the day. The team usually got a lot done in the mornings until “baby Winchester” visited and the whole team were instantly distracted by the three-year-old’s cuteness. Cas, project managing the whole renovation, always reluctantly asked her to leave so the team could get back to work. 

Sunday evening loomed, amidst the smell of fresh paint and musty books. They planned to open Biscuits and Books on Monday, and things were running a little behind schedule. Benny was still painting the shop name sign over the old, peeling ‘Lawrence Bookshop’ sign that had been there for decades. He was perched on the top of a ladder in the fading light with a paintbrush in hand and another stuck behind his ear. The sign was a deep blue, with the shop name written boldly in white, and little yellow stars dotting the background. 

Inside, Gabriel was rushing around making cookies, tarts, cakes and pies for the opening day where they planned to give them out for free. The smell of fresh baking wafted into the street, and passers by stopped to peek into the mad scene of a five men running around a half finished bookstore, waving paintbrushes and opening day flyers. 

Michael was frantically pumping up balloons to go around the shop entrance for the opening day. Once that was done, he set up the reception desk, rewired the shop landline and laid out the little stationary shop that they were going to have on the front desk, which would sell notebooks, pens, bookmarks and other such items. 

Benny, Gabriel and Michael were all following Cas’s orders. Dean was not. Cas had wanted small aisle labels and Dewey decimal system tags. But instead, Dean had gone for large, bold signs at the end of each aisle. In the history section for example, he’d painted an A3 sign with a medieval battlefield and ‘HISTORY’ written across in bold black letters. In teen fiction, authors’ surnames D – H, a dragon was curled around the letter D and a lighting scar and round glasses adorned the H. Dean had personally never understood why bookshops opted for tiny labels, which were hard to read and boring to look at. He wanted Cas bookshop to be different. 

And Cas? Come Sunday, Cas was a bit overwhelmed by it all. It had been his dream to renovate the bookshop; turn it into a space that was really _his_. He scurried around, straightening pillows on armchairs, checking the books were in the right order, and finalising their loaning system. (Dean had persuaded Cas that it _was_ a good idea to be a library and a bookshop, and if any copies of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ were given back suspiciously stained, Dean would deal with the customer personally.) 

Then finally, after hours of stressing and hurrying around, it was suddenly just … done. The place looked fantastic; smelt of paint and books and cakes, and Cas was in love. Benny and Michael drifted away back to their respective families, Gabriel went upstairs to make some dinner, and Dean and Cas were left alone in bookshop. _Their_ bookshop. 

Cas turned Dean and sniffed, eyes watering. “It’s finally finished, oh my god. Do you want tea? I think I’m going to make some tea.” 

“Are you crying?” Dean smiled, tugging Cas closer to him and kissing him on the nose. 

Cas blushed and rubbed his eyes. “No, no it’s just the … paint. It’s very strong and its causing my eyes to water.” 

Dean grinned. “Uhuh,” he whispered, his lips now against Cas’s. Cas’s lips were soft and sweet tasting, gliding over Dean’s chapped ones. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist and sighed softly as Cas captured his rough bottom lip between his own smooth ones. Cas’s breath was hot and smelt of home; of coffee and of the cheese sandwiches they ate for lunch. 

“About that tea…?” Dean murmured, his forehead resting against Cas’s and his hands in that dark mess of hair. 

Cas blinked. “Mmmm…” he said, but he didn’t move. He was too mesmerised by Dean.


	21. “I really fucked that up, didn’t I?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grand opening of Biscuits and Books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Exhausted, Dean climbed into bed with Cas. He liked the strong, warm arms around him, but there was a distinct lack of small feet kicking off the duvet, paired with slobbery kisses and flailing three-year-old arms. 

Karen had been intending to drive Elsie over to Cas’s, but it was that would’ve meant getting Elsie out of bed and it would’ve been a hassle. Instead, they were driving over tomorrow morning in time for the grand opening of Lawrence’s new bookshop, Biscuits and Books. 

Sure enough, whilst Dean and Cas were eating breakfast the next morning, Dean got a phone call from Karen asking him to let them in. (There was no intercom system on the outside of the shop, and as the stairs to Cas’s attic were at the back of the shop, the only way in was through the main entrance that customers used.) 

As soon as Elsie was unbuckled from her car seat, she ran into the shop and into Dean’s arms. He picked her up and swirled her in the air, kissing her stomach and delighting in her giggles. 

“I missed you so much baby,” he said as he nuzzled his face into her brown curls, showering her with kisses. 

“I missed you daddy too,” she said back, her arms wrapped around his tattooed neck. “Breakfast!” 

“I think you’ve already had breakfast, sweetie” Dean said, pointing to the Nutella stains on her t-shirt. 

“Yes, sorry about that,” Karen apologised. She handed over a suitcase of Elsie’s things, which she’d picked up from their apartment on the way. Dean was so glad he’d given Bobby and Karen a spare key. 

Dean put Elsie back on the floor and she scampered up the stairs. “Forget it,” Dean replied. “That’s what washing machines are for, right?” 

“Right,” Karen smiled. Then she pulled him into a hug. “We’ve missed you.” 

“Long time no see, right?” Dean said, hugging her back. “Listen, I’d invite you in…” he started awkwardly, 

Karen shook her head. “…but it’s not your house or you’ve got a shop to open or Castiel is still asleep… I get it. You just tell us whenever you’re ready for us to meet him.” 

The corners of Dean’s mouth twitched in relief. “Thanks Kay,” he said, embarrassed. 

“No problem Dean. Good luck with the first day. An’ you look after yourself, ya hear me?” She said, getting back into her car. 

“Will do,” he called, waving as she drove away. 

As he entered Cas’s apartment, he was greeted by a chorus of “Daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy!” and Elsie running towards him. He laughed and picked her up again, blowing a raspberry on her stomach. 

“Okay Squirt, you wanna second breakfast, huh? Whaddya fancy?” 

“Nutella,” she replied. 

“On toast?” Dean asked, pointing at the bread left out from his and Cas’s breakfast. 

Elsie shook her head, her brown curls bouncing. “No. With a spoon.” 

Dean burst out laughing. “Who taught you to be so funny huh?” he asked. 

Chuckling quietly, Cas emerged from his bedroom, dressed in skin-tight jeans and button down shirt, a beanie clinging to his gelled hair. Dean gulped. Sure, Cas always looked _good,_ but he hid himself in sweaters with cuffs just as frayed as his confidence. Today, however, Cas walked with his shoulder back, his head high and his eyes sparkling, and _damn_ he looked hot. 

“Hello Elsie,” he said in his husky voice, ruffling her curls. He rapped on Gabriel’s door, and the younger Novak emerged seconds later, in boxers and a holey t-shirt, yawning and running a hand through his hair. 

“I’ll put the coffee on,” said Dean, smirking and grabbing a mug, while Cas directed his younger brother back into his room to get dressed. 

Gabriel gratefully accepted the mug. Elsie accepted, though not so gratefully, the toast and banana, with her second helping of Nutella. 

“What time ’s’it?” Gabriel mumbled, rubbing his eyes. 

“Seven thirty,” Dean replied. “So get your ass in the shower. We open at nine.” 

And at nine they did. And no one walked into the shop for a whole forty minutes. 

As he hummed Metallica, Dean watched Cas’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he forced himself to stay calm. Behind the café counter, Gabriel kneaded dough over and over again, pounding the dough into the work surface and creating little puffs of flour as he worked. He ended up making the toughest, driest loaves he’d ever made, which they would end up eating for practically every meal that week. And it was a good thing Elsie liked feeding the ducks. 

“Dean,” whispered Cas, who was leaning against the reception desk and staring at the door. 

“Uhuh?” Dean whispered back. He stood up from his chair behind the reception desk to wrap his arms around Cas’s waist and hug him from behind. Cas turned his head and leaned into Dean, his breathing laboured. The confidence he’d had just hours ago was receding into the shadows of the shy, awkward Cas that Dean usually saw. 

“What if no one comes?” His eyes were closed, his voice trembling. 

Dean kissed his neck. “Shut up. Of course they’ll come.” 

“O-kay,” Cas whispered, and he opened his eyes. And the confidence returned. He stood up straighter, smiled, and turned in Dean’s arms to kiss him fully on the lips. When he opened his eyes, they gleamed with hope and excitement. “Right. We have stuff to do.” 

“How do you do that?” Dean asked, a little awestruck. 

Cas looked at him strangely, head angled to one side. “Do what?” 

“I don’t know man, turn on and off your confidence like it’s a damn switch?” 

Cas shrugged. “Fake it until you make it, that’s what they say, right?” 

Dean sat back down in his chair. “Right… but I have literally never seen you so confident,” he mused. 

“Nor have I,” admitted Cas with an embarrassed laugh. “I’m trying something new.” 

Dean grinned back. “That’s good Cas, that’s real good.” Then, “Hey. Hey, customer,” he whispered, and Cas whipped around to face a mother in her thirties, holding the hand of a squirming child who must have been around five. 

“Hellogoodmorning hi … how can I? We help… you?” Cas asked, eyes wide. Dean bit back a smile. 

The woman looked a little taken aback. “Hi… I’m just browsing, thanks.” 

“Okay. Let – let me know if you need any help,” Cas piped up as she disappeared down the literature aisle, marked A-F with a large blue sign. The A resembled a cage; painted in series of white lines with three yellow birds erupted from the bottom to represent Maya Angelou’s ‘I Know Why the Caged Birds Sing.’ The F was bright red, beneath two sad eyes and a fading green light across the water, for ‘The Great Gatsby’, by one of Cas’s favourite authors, F. Scott Fitzgerald. 

“Will do,” she called back. “C’mon Owen. It’s just a couple of minutes to grab a present for your dad, then we can go to the park.” 

Owen, the kid, grumbled in response. 

Cas turned to Dean and whispered, “I really fucked that up, didn’t I?” 

“No you didn’t,” Dean shook his head. “Sure, maybe you were a bit nervous, but that’s fine. We can offer her cake on the house, ‘cause she’s our first customer, and she’ll buy a couple of books and she’ll leave. It’s fine.” 

“I know,” replied Cas, confident smile returning. 

But it didn’t turn out quite like that. Owen, who turned out the be six, not five, stumbled open the kids section where Elsie was happily engaged in a fight between a Smaug dragon in her left hand and an Eeyore in her right. He gratefully accepted some free chocolate brownies from Gabriel, and his mother found it hard to pull him away from the mountains of colourful beanbags, blankets, books and toys. 

“Kids, huh?” She remarked, sitting at one of the stools at the café counter. 

“I know right,” responded Gabriel, pushing a plate of brownies in front of her. 

She took one, bit into it and gave a moan of happiness. “She yours?” She asked. 

“Nah, she’s Dean’s. He’s the guy with the tattoos. I’m Gabriel by the way.” He nodded towards Cas at the counter, who had been talking to Dean animatedly about some book for the past ten minutes. “That’s my older brother Cas.” 

“I’m Jody,” the woman said, taking another huge bite of the brownie. “’S’a goo’ idea.” She swallowed, and continued. “A café and a bookstore, I mean. Not seen one before.” 

“That was kinda the idea. We get to lure in cake lovers to buy books, and book lovers to buy cake. It’s kind of a win win situation.” 

“I can tell,” Jody commented, gesturing over to the door where a group of five students had just walked in. “Pretty good for a first day, huh?” 

Gabriel nodded in agreement. 

“Well, I guess I better buy some books seeing as I’ve eaten your cake,” she said, standing up and rubbing the crumbs off her fingers. 

“I guess you better,” replied Gabriel, with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Jody bought three books, and insisted on paying for the two cupcakes that her son Owen had picked up. The students were studying, philosophy, history, English, English and politics respectively, and had come in to buy some books from their reading lists, but ended up buying coffee, cakes and some notebooks too. They stayed for a good half an hour, talking to Cas about all sorts of intellectual things, while Dean and Gabriel stood there feeling like complete idiots. Total sales from the morning verged on $300. In the dying days of Lawrence Bookshop, it had been a struggle to earn that in a week. 

The afternoon fared just as well. Dean cooked Elsie a dinner of pasta and pesto sauce, and put her to bed in her fresh pajamas on the beanbag in Cas’s bedroom. Cas and Gabriel closed up at seven with satisfied grins on their faces. Dean was upstairs singing Elsie to sleep. (She hadn’t had a nap that day, so she was exhausted!) 

The adults then had a celebratory supper of breaded chicken and vegetables, with a classic English "bread and butter pudding," accompanied by champagne and an episode of BBC Sherlock. And there were still five loaves of bread to use up.


	22. “My angel."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little heated, and a little naked, after a successful first day in Biscuits and Books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW 
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

After their impressive first day in Biscuits and Books, Dean and Cas were lying on the sofa. Gabriel was in his room Skyping Balthazar. Elsie was asleep on her beanbag in the living room. (They'd moved her there from Cas's room because she had woken up and was scared to be alone in Cas's bedroom in the dark.) Dirty dinner plates were piled in the sink, and the clock read ten p.m. 

They were in their usual positions on the sofa: Dean on his back with Cas sprawled on top of him, engrossed in a book. Dean was sorting through emails, trying to sort out a tour for The Hunters. Emailing venues was very frustrating, and very, very boring. Not surprisingly, Dean soon placed his phone on the coffee table and turned his attention to Cas. Cas’s neck and earlobes more specifically, which he peppered with kisses. 

Cas wrinkled his nose. “Deeeeeaaan,” he whined. “I’m reeeaaading.” 

“Mmm,” Dean replied, not paying attention. He kissed Cas’s collarbone, sucking a little mark onto the skin. 

“Deeeaan… Stop distracting meeee,” Cas complained half-heartedly, blushing and giggling. Dean kissed the ticklish spots again. 

“Let me read. Deeeeaaaaaan.” 

“But 'm bored,” Dean pouted, and he shifted to get into a better position to make out. He turned his head and pressed his lips firmly the other man’s. “You were so-” kiss “-good today. I’m-” kiss “-so proud of you.” 

Cas leaned into the kisses, closing his eyes and lifting his free hand to run up and down Dean’s back. Dean stifled a groan as he darted his tongue over Cas’s lips. 

Cas broke away for want of oxygen. “You are… infuriating! Stop distracting me!” He laughed and smacked Dean lightly on the forehead with his book. He tried to focus on the novel once more, but Dean kissed his nose, blocking Cas’s view of the page. He continued down until he reached Cas’s mouth, but he didn’t stop there. Dean dotted kisses all the way down Cas’s neck to his chest, and Cas let out a breathy, shuddery moan. 

Dean chuckled. “I sure don’t seem like an unwanted distraction,” he noted. 

“I hate you," Cas said, without any malice. "I want to read,” he grumbled, shoving Dean over to get a glimpse at the page. 

Dean glanced down at Cas’s crotch, and back up into Cas’s eyes, which couldn't focus on the page at all, and were instead raking over Dean’s body. 

“Are you sure? I think you’ve been betrayed,” Dean smirked, raising his eyebrows at the ever-tightening material. 

The other man blushed and set the book down gently on the table. “A traitor may betray himself and do good that he does not intend,” he remarked, and he pushed Dean lightly on the chest so he was lying on his back on the sofa. 

“I love it when you quote Lord of the Rings at me, _Gandalf_ ,” Dean smirked. 

Cas propped himself up on his elbows as he lay over of Dean, kissing him gently. “I know you do,” he murmured, and kissed him again. 

Then Cas pulled away suddenly. “Did you put lipbalm on?” He asked with a grin, his mouth suddenly cold, tingling. 

Dean reddened and gave a tiny nod. “How can you tell? Is it okay? I can take it off if you-” 

“It's obvious because the sensation is less like kissing ... sandpaper. And yes it’s okay, assbutt,” Cas grinned, and they resumed kissing. 

“Assbutt?” Dean laughed, breaking the kiss moments later. “Assbutt? Really? Where did you get that one?” He stifled his laughs for Elsie's sake. They didn't want to wake her. 

Cas silenced his mocking by pressing his lips passionately to Dean’s. But not for long. “Did you…” Cas caught his breath. “Steal my orange flavoured one? You taste distinctly of orange,” he commented. 

“Ugghhh,” Dean nodded, embarrassed. Winchesters didn’t put on lipbalm, especially orange flavoured lipbalm. “Now shut up and kiss me.” 

So Cas obeyed, and did not disappoint. When his tongue flickered over Dean’s snakebite piercings, Dean let out a surprised, shaky breath and his hips gave a little twitch upwards. The sound and the almost-roll of the hips seemed to do things to the other man, as Dean felt the bulge in Cas’s skinny jeans grow and harden further. 

Cas sucked on the piercings again, eliciting the same gasp from Dean as hot wet tongue touched sensitive lip. Dean gave in to the sensation, grasping Cas’s waist and rolling his hips upwards, rubbing their growing erections together. Cas gulped at the friction and husky moan escaped his throat. Dean giggled. (What? Dean didn’t giggle. Winchesters definitely didn’t giggle.) 

Hot lips moved to Dean’s neck, and Dean didn’t even notice that one of Cas’s hands was working on his zipper until his erection sprung free of the restricting black denim and Dean made a small mewling sound at the sudden loss of pressure. He quickly wriggled out of his ripped jeans and they flung them onto the floor. A few minutes more of breathless, needy kissing and his underwear was gone too. 

“Guess we… really know who the… top… is,” murmured Dean between kisses as Cas pushed him down on the sofa again. He dropped his hands from their position in Cas’s messy hair to Cas’s bulging crotch, and went to pull down the zipper of the skinny jeans. 

Cas froze above him. 

“Fuck I’m sorry, what did I do? What’s wrong?” Dean panted, worried. 

Cas went beetroot. “I I – I…” 

Dean looked at him inquisitively, eyes wide and lust blown. “Uhuh?” 

“Scars,” Cas blurted, after a few moments of stuttering. 

Dean nodded in understanding, trying to ignore his hard length bobbing in between them and the questions racing through his head. Were they going to fuck? What the hell was going to happen? Was Cas okay with this, ready for this? Was _he_ ready for this? 

“I’m sorry, I’m sososorry. Maybe later? Not today. Today was already big enough.” 

“It’s okay. You're safe ... It’s only me, Cas,” Dean whispered, puppy-dog eyes on full blast. 

“‘M too scared to show you,” muttered Cas, hoping Dean would respect his decision to stay clothed. 

"But you showed me before?" Dean asked, confused. 

Cas flushed red at the memory. "That occasion was an accident. Legs are different." 

“Okay, that’s okay,” Dean nodded, trying to concentrate on the importance of Cas’s words; his _fears_ , rather than his lips and his dark, dark eyes. 

But Cas continued to speak. “And… I’ve never… umm…” 

“Never?” Questioned Dean, raising a hand to caress the side of the other man’s face. 

“Not with a man,” Cas admitted, avoiding eye contact with Dean, which was hard considering Dean was directly beneath him and was stroking his face. Their heads were inches apart and their hot breath was shared. “Is that okay?” he asked. 

“What? Of course it’s okay,” Dean lifted his head and pecked Cas’s lips. “Assbutt,” he added with a smirk, pulling off his black studded t-shirt so he was completely naked. Then he asked, ”Can I tell you a secret?” 

Cas nodded, blush still rising on his cheeks at the sight of the beautiful, naked man beneath him. 

“I… haven’t done anything with anyone else for two years. And I haven’t been with a guy since before I met Lisa, which must be like, what, fourteen years ago? And even then, I was in tenth grade, so we only actually had sex twice, mostly it was just hand-” 

“Shut up,” growled Cas, and he quietened Dean with a lengthy, tongue filled kiss. This time, it was Cas who rolled his hips downwards, stifling a groan. He rubbed against Dean’s erection, swallowing his sighs and biting his lip as he buried his head in Dean’s shoulder. They rolled awkwardly until they were both on their sides. Cas, lying on the outside, wrapped one leg over Dean’s naked ones and rutted against Dean. 

Dean groaned loudly and bucked his hips forward, seeking friction against Cas’s jeans, Cas’s hands, the sofa: god, just anything! 

“Shh-hh-hh,” Cas giggled, gesturing to Gabriel’s room, and Elsie, asleep on the beanbag on the other side of the living room. 

“Fuck!” Dean whispered. He had completely forgotten that Elsie was in the room, and Gabriel was just next door. _Shit_. They both collapsed into giggles. (Not giggles. Dean didn't giggle.) Dean sat up hurriedly and pulled Cas by the hand into Cas’s bedroom, closing the door behind them. 

Still laughing, their lips found each other’s. Tongues traced over teeth, smooth lips slid over one another and warm breath tickled. Hands pulled hair and hearts beat faster and faster and before long both of them were gasping, and Dean was rocking his hips into Cas jeans and biting back lust filled moans in an attempt to be quiet for Gabriel and Elsie’s sake. Cas seemed to get the message and hurriedly pulled out a bottle of cherry flavoured lube from his bedside table which he squirted unceremoniously onto his fingers. He took Dean in his hand and Dean struggled not to buck into Cas's fist. Cas pumped his hand up and down, slowly; achingly slowly, whilst his tongue circled the tip. 

“Wait wait Cas,” Dean panted. “Are you – do you – is this okay?” 

Cas answered Dean’s question with “Mmmhmm,” against the head of Dean’s length, and the vibrations made Dean whine. Cas gently squeezed Dean’s balls in his hands. 

Dean whimpered. “Ca-as.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, his eyes wide. 

But Cas just smirked and slowed down further, fingers ghosting over Dean’s balls and stroking his erection lightly, making Dean squirm and try to take over. His hot mouth swirled over the tip, occasionally moving downwards in slow licks, but never once speeding up. Cas batted Dean’s hands away, but he gradually picked up the pace and sucked harder. He circled the slit with his tongue, making Dean moan loudly. 

“Shh…” Cas whispered, and he moved upwards to capture Dean’s mouth in a kiss to silence him. Dean whimpered at the sudden hot breath on his lips, the sudden cold down there. He could taste his own salty pre-come mixed with overly sweet cherry lube on Cas’s lips. 

Cas took Dean’s slick erection in his hand and pumped it faster, and Dean sighed into Cas’s mouth. Cas’s jeans were unbearably tight. He jerked Dean harder, and Dean’s head rolled back away from Cas’s lips, his eyes; already closed from the kiss, squeezed shut and his breath hitched. 

Dean’s voice was small and pleading. “Cas. _Cas,_ ” he whispered. “Je-esus…” he let out a shaky breath and his fingers raked the futon. 

Cas shimmied down the bed to once again rest on all fours, Dean shaking in anticipation all the while. He moved his lips over Dean, sucking hard and fast. Diving down to envelope the entire length, he watched Dean fall apart with every second, every minute. 

And then suddenly, Cas stopped. He slowed down, gently tonguing the head and smearing the precome and lube to down Dean’s shaft with his tongue.

Dean arched up into Cas’s mouth in surprise, making Cas cough. “What. Are. You. Doing?” He hissed, snapping open his eyes at the abrupt change in speed. 

“Shaking things up a bit,” Cas explained with a smirk. His voice was already hoarse, and Dean struggled not to come there and then. Cas just shrugged and ignored Dean’s glares. He rubbed his hands in the inside of Dean’s thighs, placing puckered kisses there on the skin as his hands moved upwards, stroking Dean's length up and down tenderly with both hands and sucking it oh so gently. It was maddeningly, toe-curlingly slow. 

Dean whined, breath halting and stomach muscles clenching, making the dragon tattoo on his hip twitch. “Where did you–” he broke off, moaning “fu-uck…” under his breath. “ –learn… this?” 

Cas shrugged, hummed and continued slowly, relishing in the sounds that came tumbling from Dean’s mouth as he bucked and writhed beneath him. He continued for what seemed like forever, making Dean gasp and whimper with the slow licking... sucking... massaging. 

And then, with absolutely no warning, Cas sped up again, sucking harder and faster, and letting Dean plunge deeper into his hot, wet mouth.

 _God…_

Dean was totally unprepared, and let a loud, throaty groan escape his lips. Cas echoed this sound, sending vibrations through Dean. 

“Fu- fuck... Cas...” Dean stuttered breathily as Cas enveloped him. The change in speed was incredible. He felt the heat in the base of his stomach spread down his legs. His breathing was erratic as he jerked his hips upwards into Cas’s mouth. 

“Shit… Cas. Shit. _Fu-uck…_ ” he panted, eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched. “… Cas… _Cas!_ ” He shuddered and went still for a split second, before bucking and gasping. 

_Oh!..._

His eyes opened wide, hot come spurting into Cas’s mouth as his hips stuttered and his vision went blank.

After a couple of seconds, Dean blinked, panting, and caught Cas’s bright blue eyes staring at him. He heard a little moan over his own ragged breaths as Cas swallowed and sucked Dean dry. Dean raised his lead-heavy head just an inch to see a wet patch spreading over Cas’s crotch, staining his blue jeans. 

“Did you just… come in your pants?” Dean asked, trying to catch his breath. 

Cas nodded, cheeks flushing deep red. He spat unceremoniously into a glass on the bedside table, which he was very glad was there. 

Dean closed his eyes, chest heaving. “Hottest fucking thing … I’ve ever seen," he murmured. 

Cas hummed and lay back down on top of Dean to kiss him. Dean flinched at the sudden pressure, but once Cas had captured his lips in a sweaty, sticky kiss, the thought was gone, and his mind was consumed with _Cas._

“You’re a fucking angel, you know that?” Dean murmured breathlessly into Cas’s mouth, his hands tangled in the other man’s hair.

“I know,” Cas whispered back, voice sore. He smiled into the soft kiss.

Dean’s voice was husky too, but more with emotion than come. “My angel,” he said.


	23. It was going to be a long day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eventful chapter: Cas misses Dean, it's Elsie's first day at school, and Dean visits for a little lunchtime recreation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!
> 
> Trigger warning: small mention of scars and feelings regarding them. 
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury.

The first full six days of Biscuits and Books were the happiest and simultaneously the most stressful that Cas had experienced in a long time. Running a shop with his brother was… challenging. They hadn’t been in each other’s presence ‘twenty-four seven’ since they were kids, despite living together for almost two months. Gabriel had always given Cas and Dean space, and he was often out, so they hadn’t seen each other very often. 

And it was hard too, with Dean helping out on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Dean fitted the bookshop around his work at Bradbury’s Body Art Shop on Mondays and band practice on Wednesdays and Saturdays. It was difficult for Cas to remove himself from the relationship state of mind and treat Dean like a _colleague_ ; to tidy the shelves instead of sitting with him behind the reception desk; to refrain from kissing him every minute; to remove himself from Dean’s personal space so they were no longer breathing the same air. 

But Cas missed Dean now that he was no longer there to share his bed; stealing the duvet in the middle of the night so Cas had _no choice_ but to cuddle him to keep warm. His missed Dean’s scent, the constant kisses and shy smiles. He missed Dean picking food of Cas’s plate instead of his own, because apparently food always tasted better when it wasn’t yours. Cas had asked if they could just swap plates, but according to Dean, that wasn’t how it worked. 

Now it was Sunday evening, and Dean and Elsie were sleeping in their own apartment, because it was Elsie’s first day of preschool on Monday. All three of them had gone shopping during the day to buy her lunchbox and some new shoes, and Cas had never seen Dean so proud when she picked a Batman bag over the pink flowery one. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want his daughter to have more “girly” things, it was more the fact he was proud she’d inherited his love of superheroes. Her obsession with trains was adorable, and he hoped to teach her about cars one day. She tended to shy away from pink and sequins, but she did love Disney princesses (as did Dean, though he’d never admit it). Cas looked forward to the day when she would be old enough to understand The Lord of the Rings, and he could read it aloud to her and Dean. 

Monday morning. A chorus of birds broke the drone of early morning city traffic, and Cas drifted into consciousness. There was a distant clattering of plates and coffee pots as Gabriel tinkered around in the kitchen, still half asleep. The smell of something sweet wafted in under Cas’s bedroom door, and he snuggled happily into the warm, sleeping mass next to him. 

Then his alarm bleeped obtrusively, and Cas’s eyes snapped open. Watery eight a.m. sunlight pricked his eyes and he muttered yet again, to “get some fucking blinds.” The warm, sleeping mass next to him turned out to not be Dean, but a pillow onto which he had drooled during the night. Delightful. 

There was coffee on the table for him when he stumbled into the kitchen, lower lip sticking out because he missed a certain tall, tattooed man and his giggly daughter who had way too much energy for this early hour of the day. No one would be there to steal his breakfast this morning, or to wrap their arms around his waist and kiss his neck as he stood by the sink, arms submerged in a mountain of bubbles and dirty plates. Who would silently hand him a tea-towel, careful not to look at his scarred arms because he knew just how ashamed, how frightened and how vulnerable Cas was. And who would clamber onto his lab and cuddle into his chest, babbling away with bright blue eyes and chocolate-y curls to match the chocolate around her mouth. (That reminded him: they needed to buy more Nutella.) 

“Why so serious?” Mocked Gabriel with a yawn. He was reheating last week’s old cakes from the shop, and pulled them out of the oven, tipping them unceremoniously onto a plate for breakfast. They were really going to have to stop eating cake every day and buy some proper breakfasts at some points. Fruit, oatmeal maybe. (Dean was trying to wean Elsie off the Nutella.) Muesli? 

Cas just glared at his brother. Dean wouldn’t be able to see him until the evening, after his shift in the tattoo parlour. It was going to be a long day. 

“Listen, Romeo,” grumbled the younger Novak. “Go see him in your lunch break. I’ll man the desk.” He slumped down into a chair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Cas’s frown melted into a smile. “Really? Thank you, Gabriel.” He took a bite of a slightly-stale, warm biscuit and sighed contentedly. “I am going to kiss his face off,” he murmured wistfully. 

Gabriel followed suit, breaking away a piece of hot vanilla sponge. “As long as you stop sulking around, I don’t care when you see him, or what you do to him,” he shrugged. 

“Thank you,” replied Cas again. 

Then Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as he remembered last Monday’s events. “Just not when I’m trying to Skype. And for the love of God please not on the _sofa!_ ” Gabriel exclaimed, earning an annoyed slap round the head from his older brother. 

“It’s a communal area!” Protested Gabriel. “It’s like a housemate law! No sex in communal areas!” 

“You’re a communal area,” Cas retorted, frowning as he slurped his coffee. Where was Dean with his quick-witted insults and boyish laugh? 

Gabriel scoffed. “Is that the best you can do?” He asked, grinning though his mouthful of cake. 

“Shut up,” griped Cas. He reached for his phone, ignoring Gabriel’s further taunts. 

**_ >> Hello Dean. Can I come to see you at lunchtime? This evening is too far in the future. >>  
To Dean Winchester. Sent 08:12_ **

_ << of course. I miss u – tough day first day at school <<  
From Dean Winchester. Received 08:15_

**_ >> For you, or for Elsie? >>  
To Dean Winchester. Sent 08:15_ **

_ << me duh <<  
From Dean Winchester. Received 08:16_

_ << I’ll come to b&b – I miss the place already. <<  
From Dean Winchester. Received 08:16_

**_ >> I look forward to it. >>  
To Dean Winchester. Sent 08:16_ **

_ << oh btw I found a song for ur ringtone for me. <<  
From Dean Winchester. Received 08:17_

**_ >> What is it called? >>  
To Dean Winchester. Sent 08:17_ **

_ << I’m not gonna tell u, that’s the surprise. I have to set it on ur phone and u have to wait until I call u, ok? <<  
From Dean Winchester. Received 08:18_

**_ >> Okay xxx >>  
To Dean Winchester. Sent 08:18_ **

After Dean dropped Elsie off at preschool, a sudden loneliness struck him. The morning had been fraught with emotion, of the good kind. Elsie was plain excited. She had woken up extra early (so no sleep for Dean, of course) and she had dressed herself. Dean later dressed her in more sensible clothes than her Spiderman onesie under her Queen Elsa dress. Dean was excited too, but a bittersweet, ‘my baby’s growing up’ feeling poked at his heart and made his eyes water. 

Elsie had cried too, when Dean said he had to leave. But then she’d seen the massive toy train set and sandpit, and left her father’s arms giggling and waving goodbye with a grin plastering her face. Dean didn’t know whether to be delighted she was happy, or distraught that she was all too eager to see him go. 

The morning in Bradbury’s was long and dull. They had a few customers; silly teenage girls who would later regret the hearts, butterflies and overused quotes, which were sometimes in places that made Dean realise yet again why he was gay. The screaming from their not-so-soundproof ‘soundproof’ room made his head pound, and no amount of aspirin would sooth the aching of his heart. 

One o’clock came and went; their busiest time for pre-tattoo appointments as it was in the lunch hour. Finally, two o’clock dragged around and Dean shot out of his chair. He jogged down the street to Biscuits and Books, arriving with a breathless smile on his face. 

Cas was sitting behind the new reception desk, reading a paperback and sipping a coffee. Gabriel was serving a customer a cookie. There was a little boy playing with his parents in the kids’ section and two customers browsing the shelves. 

“Dean!” Beamed Cas, as soon as Dean opened the door, the bell tinkling. The smell of baking with an undertone of new paint wafted over him. Cas came out from behind the desk to give Dean a hug, which turned into a sneaky kiss while no one was looking. 

Gabriel gave Cas a look, and Cas smirked and led Dean upstairs. 

“Uhh… Cas, what are we doing?” Dean questioned, following his boyfriend up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

“Gabriel will man the desk and the café simultaneously there aren’t that many customers after two p.m I miss you but Gabriel said no sex on the sofa and threatened us with no cake for a year if he can hear us.” The words came out in a rush, tumbling over Cas’s nervousness and excitement. 

“Sex at the office,” murmured Dean. “Kinky…” He said, and gulped as Cas’s eyes travelled to his lips, and then to his crotch. Then Cas moved forward and captured Dean’s lips in a hot, needy kiss. Dean stumbled back, falling against the wall as Cas pushed him against it. 

“I want you,” Cas whispered, biting gently on Dean’s lower lip and bringing up both his hands to muss Dean’s blond hair. 

Dean responded with a quiet moan and another kiss. “Then let’s get to it,” he whispered.


	24. "I am surviving."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are upstairs. It starts out sexy, then gets angsty, then fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit NSFW.
> 
> Trigger warning: mentions of scars from self harming and some reasons behind self harming in this chapter.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

“Angel...” Dean murmured into Cas’s mouth, his arms around the other man’s waist, pulling him closer. 

Cas rolled his hips to meet Dean’s and slipped his tongue inside the other man’s mouth. He started to suck on Dean’s lower lip, hard enough to make it bruise and give him a pout for a few days to come. Dean couldn’t concentrate on anything but Cas’s hot breath in his mouth and the gentle pulling of his hair. 

Dean moved his mouth from Cas’s lips to his stubbly cheek, to his neck. He nibbled on Cas’s earlobe and Cas giggled quietly. Dean chuckled too, and their lips met again in a kiss drowned in laughter, noses bumping. Dean stroked Cas’s face gently, opening his eyes for just a fraction of a second to see Cas’s lips bitten red and hair sticking up at every angle before his lips were occupied again and his eyelids fluttered close with pleasure. 

Cas squeezed Dean’s lips gently between his own, pulling his head back slowly so Dean’s lips slid through his teeth. Dean shivered happily. An embarrassingly loud smack of lips ensued as Cas pulled away and started kissing Dean’s forehead, his nose, his ears. 

Dean blushed. “What’cha doin’ Cas?” He whispered. 

“Kissing your freckles,” Cas replied simply. 

“Why?” 

“Freckles are angels’ kisses. You said I am an angel,” Cas smiled, his lips pressing against Dean’s closed eyelids. 

Dean cleared his throat. “You’re gonna be here a while if you kiss every single one of them.” 

“I don’t mind,” Cas murmured, his lips now on Dean’s neck and collarbones. 

Dean bit his lip and opened his eyes, moving his head to kiss Cas on the lips. “But we don’t have all day, angel.” 

“You’re right,” Cas said breathily, pushing Dean back gently against the wall and continuing their kiss. It got rougher and more breathless, teeth and tongues sliding over lips, sensual biting and needy rolling of hips, rubbing their growing erections together. Another roll of Cas’s hips and they were both gasping. 

Dean moved his hands down to Cas’s groin and palmed him slowly through his beige corduroys. Cas whimpered, fumbling with his belt and returning the favour with an urgent, mind-blowing kiss. Dean tugged at the waistband of Cas’s trousers, slipping them past the hips. 

Cas pulled away, eyes open and vulnerable. “Dean,” he croaked. 

_Scars…_ Dean thought. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re safe.” 

Cas nodded, gnawing at his lips as he shimmied his trousers down his legs and pulled them off. His underwear followed. 

“You can look,” Cas muttered, taking Dean’s face in his hands. Dean glanced down, trying not to flinch at the tallies of white and red, old and new scars, which marked Cas’s legs like lines on school paper. 

He wanted to cry, but instead he kissed Cas, missing his lips and catching his nose. “You okay?” He asked. 

Cas nodded, took a deep breath, and in one swift motion removed his long sleeved navy blue t-shirt. He gulped nervously, making strong eye contact with the floor instead of his boyfriend. 

Dean moved closer and wrapped his arms around Cas’s toned waist; his hipbones scored with thin white scars. “You’re beautiful…” he said quietly. 

Cas snorted in amusement. “Just take your clothes off, Dean.” 

“I mean it,” Dean whispered. “You’re gorgeous.” He pulled off his red leather waistcoat, black Metallica t-shirt, ripped black skinny jeans and holey boxer-briefs, maintaining eye contact with Cas all the while as if to say, ‘please believe me’. 

“If you say so,” Cas replied, eyes squinting in discomfort at when Dean took his arm gently in hand in bought it to swollen lips, kissing the skin. He shivered involuntarily. “What are you doing?” 

“Kissing your scars,” Dean whispered, the words muffled against Cas’s arm. 

“You’ll be here a while,” Cas replied bitterly. 

“I don’t mind.” 

Cas let him continue for a couple of seconds before he pulled his arm away. “Please don’t.” His voice cracked. 

Dean looked up. “Please don’t what?” 

“Don’t kiss my scars and tell me I’m still beautiful and all that … all that bullshit that I don’t believe. All of t-that ‘I still love you’ that people say and I wonder why they would l-love me any less.” Cas’s voice was high-pitched with emotion. “Because that’s why they’re there: all those times I felt I wasn’t good enough, all those times I hated myself because _fucked_ up, all those times I wanted to die because it would be easier than the pain of living.” 

Dean let out a slow breath and wrapped his arms around Cas, holding him tight until he could feel Cas’s heartbeat settle down. In the minutes of silence that followed, Dean became aware of how cool the room was. 

“I – Can I finish?” Cas mumbled into Dean’s hair. 

Dean nodded, letting his arms fall to his side. 

Cas cleared his throat. “I don’t want to be glorified or put on a pedestal. I’m not fragile. I don’t need you to kiss it better because it is already better.” A small voice in the back of Cas’s brain sniggered. _No you’re not,_ it said. Cas ignored it and continued. “Scars are not injuries, Dean. A scar is healing. After injury, a scar is what makes you whole. I am whole. I am surviving.” 

“I don’t want you to survive, I want you to live,” replied Dean. 

Something flickered in Cas’s bright blue eyes. “I am living,” Cas corrected. “I am alive.” Then a little louder. “I am _alive_.” 

Dean kissed him fervently, his hands on the small of Cas’s back. “You are. You are alive. And I have the feeling you just quoted something at me and I have no clue what it is,” he admitted with a chuckle. 

“China Miéville, _The Scar._ ‘Scars are not injuries. A scar is healing. After injury, a scar is what makes you whole,’” he repeated. 

Dean smirked. “You’re such a nerd. Iloveyou.” It had just slipped out so quickly, Dean barely noticed until Cas froze in front of him. 

There was silence. There had only been one other ‘I love you’ so far. It had been on the anniversary of Lisa’s death, and Cas had said it after being slightly intimidated by a drunken phone call from Dean. It hadn’t been the ideal time or place to say the big ‘three words’. But then again, is there ever an ideal place, or did that just exist in the fairy-tales painted on the walls downstairs? Was this, right now, the ideal place, with Cas, naked and blushing, and Dean standing opposite him with eager eyes and a nervous flush also on his cheeks? 

Cas moved, finally. He looked at the floor, his smile wide. “I love you too.” 

“I love you too.” 

Cas laughed. “But I said ‘I love you too’. You can’t say it as well.” 

“But I love you too, too,” Dean giggled, pulling Cas into his arms. They swayed to imaginary music, kissing slowly and gently. Then they moved to the bed for naked cuddles under the duvet, because that was what couples did, did they not? Because the ‘I love you’s were voiced, and frankly, the room was cold and goosebumps were a thing neither of them favoured.


	25. "We can talk about this…"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upstairs, someone's crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of scars from self harming and implications of someone self harming in this chapter.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). I'm sorry there are so many triggers in these recent chapters. Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

It was warm; the bed, Cas’s arms, the contented silence, the dusty yellow light spilling in through the window through which Dean watched the clouds move and go about their day. Cas traced the tattoos on Dean’s arm. 

“Non timebo mala,” Cas read in a soft voice, his eyes running over Dean’s right bicep. 

Dean nodded. “Latin. It means ‘I will fe-” 

“-fear no evil.’” Cas finished. “I know.” 

“’Course you do,” Dean smiled fondly. “I got it when Elsie was born.” 

“Why?” Cas asked. 

“Bobby used to teach me Latin: Carpe Diem and all that useful shit. And it was carved into this gun my dad used to obsess over, a colt.” 

Cas looked puzzled. “But why did you get a tattoo of it?” 

Dean paused. “You ever get so scared of yourself that you don’t trust yourself with other people? You don’t trust yourself to not fuck up their lives as much as you’ve fucked up your own?” _With Elsie. With you._ “I… I don’t know… it reminds me to chill out when things get stress-y.” 

Cas nodded. “What about this one?” He asked, pointing to the words written over Dean's heart. "Enochian, language of the angels," he commented.

Dean's eyes widened in disbelief. "You know Enochian?" He laughed. "Are you some sorta walking encyclopaedia?"

"I know a little," Cas admitted with a shrug. "It says Lisa, Elsie... and... um..." Cas's eyes scanned over the last name.

"Sam," they said at the same time.

Dean chuckled. "Right, as always," he said. 

"And this one?" Cas asked, his fingers tracing the scratchy tattoo over Dean’s chest. “Some sort of pentagram?” 

“Anti-possession symbol," Dean corrected. "It was my first tattoo. Got it in a dodgy backstreet place in Detroit. Sammy’s got a matching one in the same place. He was fifteen and I was nineteen, and we were idiots, but he was underage, so it had to be dodgy so we could get ‘em. They got infected of course.” 

A small smirk appeared on Cas’s face. “So you believe in ghosts? Demons? Aliens?” 

Dean reddened. “To an extent. I wouldn’t hang a bucket of holy water over my bedroom door, but… I guess I’m not arrogant enough to believe that in the whole universe - the whole of space and time, that we are the only other intelligent life forms. We got them to be… prepared, you know?” 

“Fair point,” remarked Cas. “So, do you believe in the afterlife?” 

“Wow, jump right in at the deep end,” spluttered Dean. “Um… no. Not really. You?” 

“I do,” Cas replied, rubbing a thumb absent-mindedly over his wrist. 

“So, Heaven, Hell, you believe in all that?” Dean asked, a smile gracing his lips. 

Cas cleared his throat. “Heaven, yes. I believe people go to a better place when they die and – what?” He felt Dean’s rumbling chuckle as he snuggled into the other man's chest. 

Dean was laughing. “Sorry… go on.” 

“Stop it! …” 

Dean was still grinning, but he quietened down. “So you believe in Heaven and Hell, but you’re not religious,” he asked, confused. 

“Correct, I'm not religious - I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in Heaven and Hell. Not the traditional Hell with the torture and fire and demons and all of that: I think Hell is a place of learning, and after people have learnt all that they can, they go to Heaven.” 

“So basically, hell is school,” Dean quipped. 

Cas rubbed his wrist, feeling the bumpy scar tissue and the lump rising in his throat. He ignored Dean’s comment. “Angels?” 

“Do I believe in angels? Nope,” Dean shrugged. 

“Same.” 

“Apart from you,” Dean grinned, and Cas snorted, tightening his grip on his wrist. 

Dean ran a carded a gentle hand through the other man’s hair and wondered how on earth he got to be this lucky. “Fate?” Dean questioned. 

Cas shrugged, “I don’t like the idea that three old women have my whole life planned out, so, no, I don’t believe in fate.” 

“Neither do I,” whispered Dean, “But somehow,” he leant over to kiss Cas’s cheek. “Out of over seven billion people on this planet,” he pecked Cas’s lips, “I managed to find you, and I think that’s pretty awesome.” He blushed at how cheesy he was being, how Cas’s eyes sparkled in the afternoon light. 

Cas chuckled. “You’re cute.” 

“Shut up.” 

Cas massaged his arms, swallowing hard. Dean didn’t know what to do or how to help, or if help was even needed (maybe he was misreading the signs?), so he pretended not to notice, looking instead at his watch. “We’ve been gone nearly half an hour, we should probably go back downstairs.” 

Cas groaned and nestled into Dean, wrapping his arms tight around his chest. “No… let’s just stay here… forever.” 

“Gabe might need you and I should really go pick up Munchkin from school. I can’t be that dad who doesn’t show up on time on the first day,” Dean said apologetically, sitting up and stretching. By the time he was dressed and ready, Cas was still in bed, naked and hugging a pillow in Dean’s place. His face was buried in the soft fabric and his scarred limbs (strategically or coincidently) all covered by the duvet. 

Dean frowned. “Hey, you okay?” He placed a soft kiss to the nape of Cas’s neck. 

“Hmmm…” Cas said, turning round to peck Dean on the lips. “I’m fine, I’m just tired. I think going to bed in the middle of the day was not the best idea to keep me awake. I went to bed too late. ” 

Dean smiled, feeling as though Cas was hiding something, but not knowing what to do with that feeling apart. “Okay, if you’re sure.” He kissed him again. 

“I’m sure.” 

“Call me if you change your mind. I’ll take Elsie to Bradbury’s and see you back here at seven, alright?” 

Cas nodded, pulling the bedclothes up to his neck and smiling. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, angel,” Dean replied, leaving Cas’s bedroom and shutting the door quietly behind him. He jogged down the steep stairs to the bookshop. There were a handful of customers browsing the shelves, one eating eating cake and one buying a stack of books. 

“Cas’ll be down in a second. See you later” he called to Gabriel, who was standing at the till. Dean left the shop and headed back to Bradbury’s to pick up his car. Elsie’s preschool was a good twenty minute drive away from the bookshop, but only a ten minute walk from their apartment on the other side of town. Part of the reason Dean had chosen that particular school was the proximity. 

The younger Novak waved and waggled his eyebrows. The customer he was serving smiled. Dean rolled his eyes, hoping that his daughter had enjoyed her first day at school. 

Elsie, it turned out, had had a wonderful day finger-painting, playing in the sandpit, singing, and her favourite: dressing up. When she came running out of the classroom, Dean picked her up and swung her round in the air, blowing raspberries on her stomach. Elsie giggled and Dean could almost ignore the stares he was receiving from other parents. 

Maybe they were just curious, maybe they were judging him for being a tattooed, pierced, single father who sung in a rock band and worked in a body art parlour. What they didn’t know, and what Cas often had to remind Dean of, was that he was the sweetest, most caring person Cas had met in a long time. He wasn’t the neglectful, abusive, distant parent who thought his job was to ‘raise kids right’, as his own father had thought. ‘It’s not my job to be liked’ was not a motto Dean wanted to live up to. Scrap ‘liked’, heck, he wanted to, needed to be _loved_ by his daughter. 

And he was. Elsie ran out of the classroom yelling “Daddy daddy daddy daddy!” A huge smile blessed her chubby, freckled cheeks. She jumped into his arms and laughed as he spun her around in the air, making her vision go funny and her new friends ask _their_ parents if _they_ could fly in the air too. 

“How was your day, Pickle?” Dean asked, taking his hand in hers. 

“It was _awesome_!” She shouted, bouncing up and down and proceeding to tell Dean all about it in immense detail. 

When they got to Bradbury’s it was half past three. Elsie then spent the next three and a half hours pouring over her Cinderella colouring book and telling Charlie, who worked at the front desk of Bradbury’s about every single moment of her big day. Charlie, much as she loved Dean’s daughter, was very glad to see the back of her at seven o'clock when Dean’s shift finished. 

Elsie couldn’t wait to see Cas so she could tell him all about her day as well. And as Dean couldn’t wait to see Cas either, they were both out of the door in a flash when the clock struck seven. 

They pulled up in front of the bookshop at five minutes past, Baby’s engine purring in the quiet autumn evening. 

Quiet. 

Too quiet. 

_Cas and Gabe should be locking up…_ Dean thought, pushing the door open and switching the sign from ‘Come in, we’re open!’ to ‘Sorry, we’re closed. See you tomorrow!’. 

No one was front of house. No one was downstairs. A cup of tea stood, stone cold, on the reception desk. The Novak brothers were nowhere to be seen. 

“Cas?” Dean called, suppressing the panicky feeling flickering in his chest. “I’ve got a little monster here who wants to tell you all about her day!” He swallowed thickly. 

A voice came from upstairs. It was Gabriel. “Dean! Up here!” His voice cracked and the sound of a sob floated downstairs. 

_Fuck._ Dean sprinted up the stairs two at a time. “Hi, I’m here. What’s wrong?” Elsie followed, clambering behind him. 

Gabriel was so white it looked as if someone had pushed him face first into one of his huge bags of flour. “Cas is in the bathroom and he won’t come out and he has a -” 

Elsie toddled into the room. 

Gabriel whispered, “Knife.” The words sounded hollow and they hung in the air for seconds too long. 

Dean leg’s moved like they were running through water. It took a lifetime just to reach the bathroom door. 

He knocked softly. “Hey, Cas… ‘s me.” 

No reply.

Dean tried the door. Locked. Of course. 

“Cas, angel… unlock the door…” 

Silence. 

“I love you.” 

… 

“Cas… I’m right here. We can talk about this… Or not, if you don’t want to.” 

The kitchen tap dripped loudly from the next room. Dean heard hushed voices: Gabriel talking to Elsie. She was telling him about her day. He was listening without really listening. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was louder. Gabriel, holding Elsie, hurried into the room. Elsie started crying; the scared, innocent crying that a child does in situations like these. 

“Cas! Open up, man!” Dean’s fists pounded on the door. 

… 

“CAS!”


	26. “I gotcha. You’re safe…”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Elsie's help, Dean persuades Cas to open the bathroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of self harming in this chapter.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Blood stained images of Cas flashed though Dean's head. He closed his eyes and leant against the bathroom door, his face pale. 

Was Cas passed out? Or was he just not answering? Was he dead? Where was the knife? Had he even used the knife? Was it his wrists this time? His thighs? Or maybe it wasn't dragged across his skin but stabbed into his heart. At least that's what Dean felt like was happening to his own heart. He could barely think because the hammering inside his chest was so loud. 

"Cas..." he said, more quietly this time. "I don't want to break the door down but I will." He swallowed thickly. 

"Do it... Please," whispered Gabriel, holding on tightly to Elsie. She squirmed. 

"C-Cas, move away from the door... I don't want to hurt you," Dean pleaded. He stepped away from the door and rolled his shoulders, preparing to kick the lock in. 

He raised his leg, foot poised. 

“Don’t…” a voice said from inside the bathroom. Cas. 

Dean’s hand flew to his mouth as he let out a shaky sigh, sinking onto the floor in relief at Cas’s voice. “H-hi angel.” 

Dean strained to hear Cas’s muted voice. “Hello, Dean.” 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, knowing full well that Cas wasn’t. 

Cas cleared his throat. “I’ve been better,” he admitted. 

“Are you hurt?” 

The silence seemed to stretch on forever. 

“No.” 

“Cas, where’s the knife?” Dean’s voice was soft. 

“It’s i-in my hand,” Cas replied. 

“Can you – can you put it down for me? Please?” 

Half of Cas’s brain screamed ‘yes’. He needed to put it down and never touch it again. The other half was determined to keep the knife close, to protect himself from his own thoughts, to map out the pain in his head on his skin. He felt as though his head was being torn in two with the conflicting thoughts, and he moaned with the pain of it. 

“Cas? Cas, you okay?” Dean questioned, pressing his face against the door so he could hear the other man more clearly. 

Cas whimpered in response, his head burning to match the itching fire inside his wrists. 

Elsie, who had escaped Gabriel’s arms and ran to sit on her father’s lap, piped up. “Cas I wanna tell you about my day!” 

Dean looked pained. “Not now Elsie, Sweetheart. Can you go and do some colouring with Gabriel while I talk to Cas?” 

“Why’s Cas in the bathroom? Is he doing a poo?” She implored. 

Gabriel and Dean smiled weakly. “No, Poppet, he’s just a bit sad, that’s all.” 

“Like when you were crying and we watched a - a movie with Cas?” Elsie asked, thinking of the two-year anniversary of her mother’s death. 

“Yeah… like that,” nodded Dean. 

Then Elsie started talking. Toddler babble, but talking none the less. At first, Dean wanted to stop her, but then he realised that a three-year-old distraction might help. Plus, hearing her so excited about her first day at school made him smile, even if he was listening to the story for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. 

“Caaaaas, I paintinged with my fingers and I did a flower and then I goed in the sand and got sand in my hair and in my – my shoes and Miss telled me not to eat the sand but we had maca- maca _noni_ and cheese for lunch so I wasn't hungry. And then we dressed up and I was Elsa because it’s like my name! But the dress was too big so then I was Olaf because… because I like warm hugs.” Elsie babbled, wriggling around on Dean’s lap. 

Cas smiled at her voice. “Really?” 

Dean’s eyes lit up at the sound of Cas’s voice. “Tell Cas about the singing you did,” he whispered. 

“Oh! We singed ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and Miss said I singed like an angel.” 

_Angel…_

“Angel… please unlock the door. I understand what this is, believe me I’ve _lived_ this. It will be better once I’m there, I promise,” the words sounded fake as soon as they brushed Dean’s lips. 

There was no reply. 

Elsie’s happy voice cut through the tension in the room like a knife. _A knife. How ironic._ “I liked singing and painting and flowers and dressed up and sand. Flower was green and I like green but blue is my favourite and I also like trains. Cas do you like trains?” 

“Very much so,” came Cas’s quiet reply. 

“I have a red train and a yellow big train and lots of other trains but I can’t ‘member the colour. Daddy likes the black train because… because… why?” 

Dean’s lips twitched upwards. “Because it’s got silver wheels and it’s shiny. It looks like Baby but in train form. You should really come and see it sometime, ‘s awesome” 

“I will.” Cas’s voice sounded hoarse. 

“Open the door Cas… I can help.” The plea hung in the air for moments too long. 

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” Cas mumbled, but Dean’s ear was pressed up against the wooden door, so he managed to hear. 

Dean swallowed loudly. He didn’t know if he was ready to see Cas any more than Cas was ready to see him. “I won’t look,” he promised. “I won’t judge.” 

“Just you?” Cas’s voice shook with nerves. He felt bile rise in his chest. His right hand held the knife. His left hovered over the lock on the door. 

Dean helped Elsie up and ushered her and Gabriel out of the room, with apologetic looks to Gabriel, but truth be told, Gabriel didn’t want to be triggered any more than he was already feeling, so was rather glad to be out of the way and colouring in with Elsie on the sofa in the living room. Dean closed the bedroom door behind them and headed back to the door of the en-suite bathroom. 

“’S just me now Cas,” he said. 

Cas’s hand touched the cool metal lock and he shivered, swallowing rapidly to keep the vomit at bay. He turned the lock with a loud click. Too loud. The blood was pounding in his ears. He heaved involuntarily. 

Dean heard Cas retch moved quickly and quietly to open the door. Cas stood behind it, hunched over and trembling, the sleeves of his navy blue t-shirt rolled up to expose his marred skin. Dean’s eyes widened at the knife in Cas’s right hand, and he stretched out his own, cautiously, to pry it from Cas’s grip. 

Cas jumped at Dean’s touch. 

“Shit. Sorry. I’m sorry, I should have warned you,” Dean whispered, afraid that too much noise would scare the man. He gently lifted the knife from Cas’s fingers and placed it on the counter. 

Cas stayed in his bent over position, bare arms hanging limp by his sides. It was then that Dean realised there were no new wounds. Relief flooded through his veins. 

“I - I’m going to hug you now,” Dean murmured. He waited for a reaction, and almost missed the tiniest of nods that Cas gave. 

He wrapped his strong, colourful arms around the smaller man and held him tight. He was aware that his heartbeat was too loud and his breath smelt bad, but he couldn’t care less. Cas didn’t move. His warm breath tickled the patterns on Dean’s collarbone and he stayed stiff as Dean embraced him. 

“You’re safe…” Dean whispered, rubbing circles onto Cas’s back. “I gotcha. You’re safe…” 

Minutes passed. 

“You still think you’re gonna puke?” Dean’s voice was barely audible. 

Cas gave a miniscule shake of his head against Dean’s shoulder. 

“’mkay. I’m gonna stop hugging you and we’re gonna walk over to the sink to run some cold water over your wrists,” he forewarned, his voice soothing but not patronising. 

Dean let his arms drop from around Cas’s body and led the other man over to the sink. He massaged Cas’s wrists and forearms under the cool stream of water, his fingers soon numbing. 

Water splashed onto the floor. 

The two men stood close. Dean kissed Cas’s forehead, stroking his hair gently with wet fingers and trying to say everything by saying nothing at all. Just a longing, loving look into Cas’s blue eyes. And before he could get lost in their depths, Cas trembled and broke eye contact, a single tear running down his pale cheek.


	27. "You make me feel safe."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tells Cas why he loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: brief mention of a knife which Cas intended to use to self harm. 
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury. 
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

The first tear was followed by another, and by another. Over the years, Cas had perfected the art of crying without making a noise. Growing up in a children’s home had meant showing no weakness. Crying had had to be muffled by a pillow; else you would be greeted the next morning by jeering and a fist to the stomach. 

Though he wasn’t silent, not really. Dean could hear his shaky, wet breaths, his sniffs and his small whimpers as he held him close. Cas’s arms were folded up against Dean’s chest as if he was shielding his heart from some unknown invasion. Strangely, endearingly, it reminded Dean of a small kitten. He’d always wanted a kitten. 

“Hey… hey you’re okay…” Dean murmured into the warm crevice of Cas’s neck. Then, a little quieter. “You’re okay…” 

“D-do you love m-me?” Asked Cas, his voice so quiet that Dean had to ask him to repeat himself. 

“More than anything,” Dean replied, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Why?” 

Dean gave a little chuckle, the quick expulsion of air moving the hairs at the base of the other man's neck neck, tickling Cas and making him shiver. “I don’t know, Cas. I just do," said Dean. 

“Why?” Cas repeated, his voice trailing off into a sniff. He reminded Dean of Elsie, who was always asking questions. Three year olds were curious about everything. Not a day went by without a series of _daddy why this_ 's and _why that_ 's. 

Dean bit his lip. “I don’t read a lot of books, but… I guess… ummm…” He hesitated, seemingly embarrassed about what was coming next. “You give me the kind of feeling people write novels about.” 

“Is that a good thing?” Cas asked in barely more than a whisper, conscious of his nose running, the tears and snot pooling onto his lips. 

“Of course it’s a good thing,” smiled Dean. 

He stepped away from Cas, looking him directly in the eye. Cas flushed red and looked at the floor, making a small noise at the back of his throat at the loss of contact. He stretched out his hand to touch Dean’s muscular, tattooed arm to rectify the sudden feeling of solitude. 

“I love you,” Dean said softly. 

Cas nodded, studying the puddles of water on the floor. They reflected the lights from the ceiling and shimmered somewhat, mirroring the glitter of Cas’s wet eyes. 

Dean put a finger under Cas’s chin and lifted his head so they could make eye contact. Cas’s eyes darted away. 

“Hey… look at me," Dean whispered. 

And slowly, Cas looked. 

“I love you.” The novelty of the phrase still excited Dean. 

No sound came out, but Cas’s lips moved in reply. “I love you too.” 

Dean took the knife from the counter and held it in front of Cas. “This is not the answer, you hear me? This is never the answer.” 

Cas nodded again, eyes on the floor and lips pursed to stop a sob escaping. 

Dean continued. “I’m gonna put this away and tell Gabriel and Elsie to go to the grocery store, and make you some tea and we’re gonna sit down and talk about this.” Tea made everything better. That much he had learnt from Cas, and from being forced to watch the British TV show 'Sherlock', which he had enjoyed once he'd got over his initial jealously of Cas's raging crush on the protagonist. 

“I don’t want to talk, Dean.” Cas glanced up at the other man through thick, wet lashes. “I don’t – I can’t - ” 

Dean took hold of Cas’s shoulders, manhandling him gently out of the bathroom and onto the bed where he wrapped him in the duvet and told him to stay put while Gabriel and Elsie left the apartment. 

“Ca-as,” Dean called a few minutes later, a grin in his voice. “How the fuck do you make this tea? It says lemongrass and ginger on the box but there’re no teabags.” 

Cas appeared in the doorway, still wrapped in his duvet, and headed over to the kitchen to help Dean. A weak, wet smile played on his lips. “You’re useless...” 

“I know,” chuckled Dean, letting Cas take over and make the drinks. 

Castiel was the only person Dean knew who made loose leafed tea and used an electric kettle. Anyone else he knew made tea in the microwave, adding copious amounts of milk and sugar to make a watery and sweet but otherwise rather tasteless concoction that Dean didn’t really like. Cas, however, made drank jasmine tea, liquorice and peppermint tea, hibiscus and raspberry tea, using loose leaves and sometimes his own dried flowers or herbs which he picked from his windowsill terrariums. Before he met Cas, Dean wasn’t aware that one person could embody so much ‘hipster’, but then again, that was _before_ he met Cas. 

They took the teas over to the coffee table. Dean lay down on the sofa and Cas lay next to him; Dean’s strong arms wrapped around him the only thing preventing him from falling onto the floor. The duvet was draped over them; their noses touched and they held each other close. They could hear each other’s heartbeats, taste each other’s breath and for a moment, all was well. 

“Why do you love me?” There was that question again, small and scared in the serenity of the room. 

Dean pulled Cas closer. He let out a long breath. “Because you make me feel safe. When the world is collapsing and I am stuck in the middle of all this – all this crap life gives us, I know I can turn to you.” 

A pause. Cas’s heartbeat found it’s way to his throat. 

“I love you because when I listen to all those cheesey love songs you make me mix tapes of, I think of us. Because I watch those foreign movies with you in languages I don’t understand, and you make me go on walks in the rain with you, and I complain but I secretly love it because I love you, and I’d do anything to make you happy.” 

“Stop…” Cas mumbled through a smile and flushed cheeks buried deep in Dean’s embrace. 

“No, no, you asked, so I’m gonna keep going,” Dean grinned, kissing the top of Cas’s head. “I love that you put honey in your coffee, and you sew patches onto your clothes when they rip, and you listen to my music even though you hate it-” 

“I don’t,” the other man interjected. 

“C’mon,” countered Dean. “The Hunters aren’t exactly your style.” 

“No, I love it because it’s yours,” Cas whispered. 

Dean didn’t know how to reply, so just continued. “I love that you quote books to me that I’ve never even heard of, and that you read _Game of Thrones_ to me before we go to bed so that we can watch the series together. I love that you’re so hot – no… you’re so beautiful, so gorgeous, on the inside and the outside.” He cringed inwardly at his words. He was turning into quite the poet, though arguably not a very good one. Cas could've done better. 

(Cas did do better - Dean had found stacks of notebooks filled to the brim with scribbles; half finished stories littered with post-it notes, copious poems titled with dates or words Dean didn't understand, streams of words in languages Dean didn't even know existed, which filled the pages and spilled onto the inside of the cardboard covers.)

“I’m not,” argued Cas. 

“Shut up. You are.” He kissed the other man’s hair. “’m tryna show you that,” he muttered into the messy tangles. “I love that you make me laugh. That you make me happy and I make you happy. I love that I can be myself around you, that I don’t have to be this tough guy that everyone thinks I am, because I’m not him, I’m the person I am when I’m with you.” 

“Stop…” Complained Cas, feeling awkward at this showering of compliments that he didn't quite believe. Not yet. “I d-don’t deserve this. You,” he sniffed, letting out a shaky breath against Dean’s warm chest. 

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He gulped. “What?” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Cas repeated. 

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. That is utter bullshit Cas, and you know it.” He turned to kiss Cas on the lips, but the brunet flinched and pulled away. 

“I don’t,” he choked. 

Dean inhaled sharply and Cas flinched so hard he nearly fell off the sofa. “Cas, fuck it. I’m not here to be _deserved!_ No one gets to decide who deserves who. Everyone’s so fucked up that no one really deserves anyone, but people still love each other. I love you and you love me – there’s no deserving! Don’t put me on a pedestal and talk to me about deserving.” 

“People like you don’t happen to people like me,” Cas said in a small voice. “That’s what I meant.” 

Dean gave a frustrated, pained laugh. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

Cas whimpered. “Please don’t shout,” he snivelled, clenching his fist into Dean’s shirt. 

“Sorry,” Dean whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to show you that I love you, and that you _do_ deserve this. You deserve to be loved and I love you.” 

“But you just said that no one deserves anyone, and you don’t want to be deserved,” quipped Cas. 

Dean huffed. “I changed my mind okay. I'm not good at explainin' things. You deserve to be happy and be loved. I just don’t like to be _deserved_ or thought of as some sorta prize, but I get that you’re not doing that. You deserve me and I deserve you. You love me and I love you and I’m gonna spend every day of my life proving that to you, okay?” 

“Okay,” Cas nodded, his voice fraught with the onset of more tears. His eyes prickled and burnt. “We should drink the tea, it’s going to turn cold. I can add some more ginger, if you’d like some more kick.” They both sat up, holding the mugs close and finding comfort in their warmth as well as the warmth of each other. 

Dean smiled, noticing that Cas had picked up his habit of changing the subject when things got a little… emotionally messy. He took a sip of his tea and spluttered as the heat of the ginger hit his taste buds. Cas smirked. 

“No, no, I think it’s good.” Dean grinned. He leant over and kissed Cas on the lips. It tasted of salty tears and fiery ginger, of the warmth of safety, and the bitter tang of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking a lot recently about love, and the deserving of it. It's taken me a while to be able to formulate these thoughts into coherent sentences, let alone weave them into this story, but I think I did okay. 
> 
> I think that everyone deserves love, safety and happiness, and people around them that make them feel loved, safe and happy. But I don't think people should be 'deserved'. I don't believe that one person can be 'out' of another person's 'league', or that person A has to pass a test or somehow prove that they are worthy and deserving of person B. I don't think someone can be 'too good' for someone else. If it's love, it's love, and if you feel that maybe you're not 'good enough' for another person, maybe they aren't the right person for you. In my experience, having been on both sides of the situation, putting people on pedestals never ends well. It creates tension and an inequality that I think should not exist in a relationship. I believe that you should love people as your equals.
> 
> Just my rambling thoughts that I didn't quite manage to get into this chapter, but I hope some of them came across.


	28. “I look like Rudolf.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's finding the school run a little tough, and Cas gets ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: very brief mention of scars from self harming, antidepressants and drinking.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury, depression or alcoholism. 
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Jody Mills was miracle sent from God himself.

School runs were hard. ‘Lessons’ (ie finger painting and dress-up) started at nine a.m, and with the preschool only a ten-minute walk away, they only had to leave by quarter to nine, right? 

Wrong. Dean often forgot that a ten-minute walk for him could end up being a half an hour wander with Elsie. Not to mention the fact that for Dean, leaving at 8:45 meant getting up twenty minutes before hand. But not Elsie. Elsie had an internal alarm clock that went off at six a.m, regardless of the day, how tired she was, or how exhausted her father felt. 

And here came the pattering of little feet, just as Dean’s alarm lit up and started beeping. Elsie’s small fingers pressed snooze and Dean smiled blearily. 

“You’re gonna be a great teenager,” he whispered, voice hoarse with sleep. He let himself doze off again, cuddled around his daughter while she poked his face and wriggled incessantly. 

Breakfast, as usual, was messy and sticky, and the rest of the morning was filled with reasons why Elsie couldn’t wear her batman onesie to school. 

Mondays meant Bradbury’s, where he started his shift at ten a.m, a much more respectable hour than the brutal 7:30 a.m. shift he used to work. Now it was Benny’s job to open the shop and make the coffee because Dean was on the school run. Jo, who used to babysit Elsie on Mondays and Tuesdays, was off to college and Dean had been left to fend for himself in the mornings.

School finished at three, and Dean had to leave work early to pick up his daughter. With less time spent at Bradbury’s and more and more spent at Biscuits and Books, Dean’s dream of becoming a tattoo artist was becoming faded. Maybe he just wanted to work in the bookshop all day, every day. Was that such a bad thing?

Tuesdays were spent with Cas and Gabriel in the bookshop and it was blissful. Mondays were a blur of preschool, Bradbury’s, bookshop to drop off Elsie, Bradbury’s to finish his shift, bookshop, then finally, home. Tuesdays were, without a doubt, much more relaxing.

Wednesdays were great too, but the school run interrupted band practice: picking Elsie up and dropping her off at the bookshop so that Cas and Gabe could look after her. Benny, Garth, Adam and Ash didn’t really mind. They all understood that Dean couldn’t afford to pay someone to do the school run for him.

So when Jody Mills, who had been the first customer at the newly renovated bookshop and came back regularly for cake and a juicy new romance novel, offered to pick Elsie up from school, Dean couldn’t have been more grateful. Jody had been the Sheriff of Kansas, but had resigned when she had her six-year-old son Owen, who went to the school attached to Elsie’s preschool. The Mills lived just a block away and were were lovely people. Dean quickly learnt to trust them with his baby girl.

Wednesdays ended with dinner at the Novak’s and, more often than not, a bed until morning. Dean and Elsie kept practically half of their things at the bookshop anyway, so it was never a hassle. Thursdays and Fridays were much like Tuesdays, and with every day spent working in the bookshop; Dean became less convinced about taking the tattoo artist exam. He’d never liked exams much, and what was the point if he was never going to use the qualification? 

Today, Saturday, was Dean’s favourite day: a relaxed band practice in the morning, followed by lunch at his brother’s, the afternoon working at Biscuits and Books, and evening spent with Cas. 

It was seven and Cas had just locked up the bookshop. He wandered upstairs to find Dean washing up after Elsie’s dinner and Elsie was singing loudly, lying on the rug on the floor. She had inherited her father’s angelic voice as well as his good looks, it seemed.

Cas stretched, his hands in the air above his head and his faced contorted in a wide yawn. A sliver of tanned stomach showed, and although Dean was standing in the kitchen and was too far away to see clearly, he knew that the skin was patterned with thin white lines, marking each and every battle Cas had lost with himself at four a.m. when his antidepressants were a bust and yet another vodka bottle was empty. 

Cas dropped his arms heavily back by his side, his eyes closed. His long sleeved turquoise t-shirt, patterned with some obscure quote in French, fell back over his stomach to conceal the scars. Concealing, always concealing.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, moving quickly to embrace the other man in case he fell. His wet hands made Cas shiver. 

“Nothing, I’m just tired, Dean,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s shoulder. He wriggled out of Dean’s arms and opened his eyes, smiling goofily to prove that he was okay. 

Dean didn’t seem convinced, but he shrugged and said “You hungry? I made pasta.”

Cas was about to answer, but sneezed loudly. Snot flew everywhere, and Dean couldn’t help but chuckle as he handed Cas a tissue. 

“I think you’re comin’ down with something,” noted Dean, as Cas groaned and sat down heavily on the sofa, apologising for the mess he’d made on Dean’s shirt.

“Tea?” Dean asked.

Cas sniffed, nodded, and was soon presented with a warm mug, his book and a packet of tissues. “You’ve become quite the expert in making these, Dean,” he smiled and put the cup of the coffee table.

Dean shrugged. “Yeah… well… you like them. And I’ve… grown to like them too.”

Cas gasped in mock horror. “The great Dean Winchester? Liking loose-leafed tea?”

“Shut up,” Dean muttered, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Cas’s head. “Let me get Elsie ready for bed and then we can, I don’t know… watch an old movie and make out or somethin’.”

“But you’ll get sick,” protested Cas.

“I … I have booster shots… You have to when you’re in a band, plus we have no gigs lined up, it’s fine.” Dean was fantastic at excuses when they meant spending extra time with his boyfriend.

“But-” 

“Cas, do I look like I care?”

And Dean really didn’t care. After Elsie’s shower (which she was no longer scared of), brushing her teeth and reading her a bedtime story, she was finally asleep on the beanbag in Cas’s room and Dean’s mouth was attached to Cas’s. 

Someday they were going to have to get Elsie a bed, maybe put it in Gabriel’s room? Gabriel had been talking of wanting to move out, but he hadn’t been able to find a place of his own.

Cas sighed loudly as Dean nibbled on his lower lip. He allowed his body to go slack as Dean kissed his stubbled jaw, his neck, his collarbones. Dean cupped his face in his large hands, stroking his hair gently as his tongue danced over Cas’s lips. 

It wasn’t long before Cas’s hair was a right mess and they were both panting. Dean broke the kiss to fumble at Cas’s muscled waistline, trying to undo his belt.

Cas’s hand covered Dean’s and he shook his head. “Not… now. I’m sorry.”

A flash of disappointment flickered across Dean’s eyes. “Oh. Okay,” he said quickly.

“I’m sorry… forgive me.” Cas blew his nose.

Dean laughed a little. “It’s okay, Angel, seriously. You should never feel sorry for saying no to sex.”

“I can’t think why you’d want to have sex right now anyway,” Cas added, “I look like Rudolf,” he said with a little cough. 

“I still love you,” replied Dean with a chaste kiss to the forehead. 

Cas blushed and hummed happily as Dean lay down on the sofa and pulled Cas on top of him, so that his head rested on the other man’s chest. His eyes were level with the antipossession tattoo that peeked out from under Dean’s artistically ripped t-shirt. Sure, Cas's head was hurting, his nose was stuffy and there was a constant tickle of a cough in his throat, but somehow, with Dean carding a hand through his dark hair, Cas felt okay.


	29. "She really doesn’t have a gaydar.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a relaxed day at the bookshop, Cas goes over to Dean's for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

It was nine a.m. The door was unlocked and the morning sunlight spilt into the shop. Gabriel was on his third coffee of the day, flicking idly through recipe books as he sat behind the café counter. Cas was, as you would expect, buried in a book. His hands cradled his second, honey-sweetened latte. 

The bell above the door chimed and Cas wrenched his eyes from the novel, expecting to see his first customer of the day who would browse the shelves, maybe compliment the décor, and hopefully buy a book or two, leaving with a complimentary cookie for being their first client. But it was Dean.

“You’re early,” Cas beamed, checking his watch again to make sure he had the time right. 

He greeted Dean with a long kiss, causing Gabriel to cough loudly and pretend that puff pastry lemon tarts were a lot more interesting than they actually were. 

“I hate you,” said Dean, and it became apparent immediately why this was so. His voice was hoarse and croaky and his eyes were eyeliner-less and watery. 

Cas laughed. “I did warn you,” he reminded Dean, thinking back to the conversation they had had two days ago on the sofa. 

“Not that you sound any better,” quipped Dean, reaching out to fiddle with the scarf that was wound around Cas’s neck. Indeed, Cas’s voice was lower and more growly than usual. 

“Shut up.” Cas flicked Dean’s face with his scarf. “So why are you half an hour early?”

Dean cleared his throat. “You complainin’?” 

Cas grinned, his lips, softened with copious amounts of flavoured lip balm, parting to show his teeth. “Maybe…”

“Remember Jody-” he coughed “-Mills? Ex-Sheriff? She was the first customer after we redecorated.” 

Cas nodded. 

“Anyway,” Dean continued, “She lives a block away and her son Owen goes to Lawrence Primary which is like, attached to the preschool so she’s gonna do the school runs for me.”

“That’s great news!” Cas smiled, sipping his coffee. “Now I get an extra thirty minutes of you coughing all over me.”

"Fuck you." Dean laughed.

"When, tonight? Lunchtime? … Now?" Cas asked, feigning stupid.

"You know what I mean..." Dean huffed, clearing his throat again as a customer walked in. 

She was wearing Dr Martens, dark skinny jeans, a plaid shirt and a leather jacket. Her dark eye makeup accentuated the mole under her left eye and she walked through the aisles with confidence. She returned to the front desk a while later, armed with four large books that she wanted to loan, on Egyptian Lore, Ancient Runes, Angels and Biblical Mythology, and Dragons. Now Cas recognised her. 

“Krissy, hi,” he smiled, remembering her from their first day as Biscuits and Books. She had been the one studying ancient history, and was specialising in mythology and lore from around the world. She and Cas had had a riveting conversation about vampires and their portrayal in literature through the ages. 

“Castiel… right? Hey.” She responded as Cas scanned the books. She eyed Dean with a somewhat hungry stare. “Nice ink,” she remarked.

“Thanks,” Dean nodded, pleased. “Dragons, huh?” He croaked, pointing to the book in Cas’s hands. 

She shrugged. “They’re interesting. They crop up in almost every culture: China, Greece, Europe, the Middle East, even America. And although it’s probably due to dinosaur remains, it’s cool how such different cultures could share something so… awesome.”

Dean gave a little laugh of disbelief. “I’m listening,” he said, and Krissy continued. 

Their conversation was interrupted with cake, which she brought for them both, and Cas’s insistence that Krissy didn’t have to pay for the coffee she took from the machine labelled ‘free drinks’. She put some change on the table regardless and stubbornly refused to take it back when Cas placed in in her hands again. She left after an hour because she had some essay to get back to, and when Dean went to clear up the plates and mugs, he found a number scrawled on her receipt. 

“Wow, she really doesn’t have a gaydar,” Gabriel laughed when Dean showed them the receipt. “What with you and Cas having eye sex every two seconds.”

“Gabe!” Groaned Dean, blushing. “But I feel kinda bad for her, ya know? She thinks I’m this awesome guy with a shit ton of tattoos, but I’m a broke dad in my thirties with a shit ton of emotional baggage. And I’m in love with Cas.”

Cas blushed too, his cheeks split into such a wide smile that it started to hurt. “I love you too,” he whispered, his hand finding Dean’s under the reception desk. 

But there wasn’t much time for eye sex after that, as a steady stream of customers began and didn’t even stop for lunch. They had apparently earned quite a reputation for being a relaxing lunchtime hang out. Gabriel served what seemed to be hundreds of sandwiches and cakes, and by the time Jody dropped off Elsie at half past three, there was a substantial pile of coins by their fancy new coffee machine. 

“Krissy started a trend,” commented Gabriel, scooping the coins into a bowl to stop them falling off the café counter. “People are just too nice.”

“Do you think I should make a donations box? Like Krissy suggested? It would be much more aesthetically pleasing than a bowl,” said Cas, running his hands through his hair and readjusting his cardigan. He picked Elsie up and sat her on top of the reception desk. Whenever Cas was behind the desk, she insisted on being there with him to help the customers.

Dean emerging from one of the aisles he’d been tidying. “It’d look nicer, yeah. More ‘aesthetically pleasing’,” he mocked with a sly grin.

Cas stuck out his tongue and turned to help his next customer; a middle-aged woman who was buying some books on gardening. She cooed at Elsie.

“She has your hair,” she remarked, looking at Elsie’s chocolate brown curls and then back at Cas's dark, messy mop. “And your nose…” And she gazed at Cas’s bright blue eyes and Elsie’s sparkling green ones. Dean held back an amused scoff. “But obviously her mother’s eyes and freckles.”

Cas looked utterly surprised. “I… well, actually, she has her father’s eyes and freckles. And I’ve never met her mother but I think it’s safe to say she has her mother’s hair because her father's is… a relatively boring mousy brown when he isn’t dying it blond.” He looked pointedly over at Dean, who was holding a stack of returned books. 

"Relatively boring?" Dean exclaimed, and clutched at his heart, faking wounded. His green eyes, which Elsie had most certainly inherited, sparkled. 

The woman stuttered. “Oh. I. I didn’t expect… She really does look like you though, dear.”

Cas just nodded, holding in a smile as the woman realised that she and Dean were practically living together. She blushed, took her books quickly and left. 

Cas, Dean and Gabriel burst out laughing as soon as the door closed, and Dean and Cas were still laughing at her expression in the Impala as Dean drove home to have Cas over for dinner. 

The Novaks had been so hospitable over the past two and a bit months that they had known them and it was time that the Winchesters returned the favour. But Gabriel, ever the diplomat, had decided to have dinner with his best friend Michael, leaving Dean and Cas alone. Dean wasn’t one for little anniversaries or making mountains out of molehills, but Gabriel knew that the first meal you cooked for someone else was always special, and he didn’t want to intrude. In fact, given the amount of kissing they’d got away with today, he wanted to be anywhere but Dean’s apartment when darkness fell. 

Dean unlocked the door and welcomed Cas inside. “I was gonna make some lamb curry, you know, for old times sake,” he joked and Cas chortled. “But I figured that nothing could top Gabe’s, so are burgers okay?”

“Burgers sound delicious,” replied Cas, perching on the bathroom counter while Dean ran Elsie a bubble bath. She always ate dinner at the bookshop before it closed because, when they did go back to their own apartment, it was always nearly her bedtime.

“Daddy I want burgers!” Elsie’s singsong voice echoed in the bathroom. She hit the bubbles in the water, making them fly into the air. “Snow!” She exclaimed. The adults smiled. 

“You had mac and cheese at my house, remember?” Cas said, flicking some bubbles back at the toddler. 

“Burgers!” Elsie pouted, causing them both to laugh again. 

“Maybe tomorrow sweetie,” Dean answered. “It’s bedtime now. And,” he looked at Cas for confirmation, “Cas is gonna read you a bedtime story while I fix some grub, okay?”

Cas grinned happily, ruffling Elsie’s wet curls. “That sounds great,” he said. And it was. After that evening, Elsie refused to have anyone else read her a story.


	30. "Move in with me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas spend quiet evening spent at the Winchester apartment getting to know each other better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!
> 
> Disclaimer - any songs / artists / movies mentioned are not mine, nor is Supernatural.

“Dean, these are fantastic,” Cas gushed, his mouth full of juicy meat, tomato, onions, pickles and spicy barbecue sauce, all wrapped in a warm crusty bun. “You could give my brother a run for his money.” 

Dean shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Well, you know… don’t want to put him outta a job.” 

The next few minutes were filled with a contented silence of eating and slurping cold beers. 

Licking his fingers, Cas asked, simply and innocently, “What are your fears?” 

Dean choked on a piece of onion, laughing in disbelief at the odd and out-of-the-blue question. “Umm… Can I go for the clichéd ‘losing the people I love’ answer?” Some sauce dribbled down his chin. 

“I guess you can, it’s mine too. I’m also claustrophobic.” 

“Small spaces?” Dean questioned, sipping his beer. 

Cas nodded. “Yes, I got locked in a cupboard for two days when I was a child.” 

Dean’s eyes widened. “Shit… wow.” He contemplated whether to share this next part of himself for a while. What would Cas think of him? Would he laugh? Sam had laughed when he’d told him. “I’m… urgh… scared of flying. Heights. All that.” 

“Really? Aviophobia and altophobia?” 

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, what you said, nerd." 

“You have some sauce on your chin,” Cas commented, pointing at Dean’s blond scruffy stubble. 

Dean licked his finger and wiped at his chin. “Gone?” 

Cas laughed a little. “No, you just smeared it around.” 

Dean tried again, smudging barbecue sauce further up his face. 

“Let me,” Cas offered sweetly. He leant across the table, licked his finger and dabbed at the sauce on Dean’s chin. His blue eyes bored into Dean’s. 

They finished the burgers surrounded by a comfortable quiet and the soft whirring of a neighbour’s dishwasher through the thin walls. Dean got up to fetch some desert from the kitchen but as he walked past Cas’s chair, Cas grabbed him around the waist and pulled him onto his lap, kissing his neck. 

“Oh… hey,” Dean murmured, kissing Cas back on the cheek. 

Then Cas asked, “What’s your favourite colour?” Dean opened his mouth to answer, but Cas’s cut across him. “Wait, let me guess – black?” 

“How did you know?” Dean gasped, feigning surprise. He gestured to his black jeans, black t-shirt with black leather detailing, black jewellery and even his black socks. “Most people can’t tell!” 

Cas grinned. “I’m good at reading people. Mine’s green.” 

“What kinda green?” Dean asked, but before Cas could speak, he continued: “Wait, lemme guess:” He put on a posh accent. (Not that Cas was particularly posh, it was more the awkward, stilted style of his speech which gave the impression of a wealthy upbringing.) “Grass? Lime?” He smirked. 

A smile tugged at Cas’s lips as he shook his head. 

“Mint? Teal? Apple? Urmm… Olive?” 

Cas was still shaking his head. “Dean,” he said softly. 

Dean stopped mid ‘forest green’. “Uhuh?” 

“Dean,” Cas repeated, kissing the jawline of the man in his lap. 

“Yeah? What’s up?” Dean shifted to looked at Cas properly. 

A blush tinted his cheeks. “You’re not understanding me correctly. My favourite colour is,” Cas stroked Dean’s temple, looking him directly in the eyes. “The colour of your eyes.” 

Dean bit his lip, flushing red too. His green-grey eyes fluttered closed. 

“Dean-green,” Cas whispered, pressing his lips to Dean’s eyelids. 

Dean laughed quietly. He kissed Cas long and hard on the lips, because the real weight of his adoration for Castiel couldn’t be expressed in words. 

Dean pulled his lips away from Cas’s with a smack. “So what’s with all the questions huh?” 

“Just curious,” Cas replied, chasing Dean’s lips with his own. “Favourite song?” 

Dean groaned. “I hate this question! I can never choose! Either ‘Ramble On’ or ‘Traveling Riverside Blues’ by Led Zep. Yours?” 

“'Love Is All by The Tallest Man On Earth’, then 'I Can't Help Falling In Love With You' by Elvis.” Cas responded, starting to hum the opening bars to Love Is All subconsciously. 

Dean looked blank. “Of course, I’ve never heard of him. Is he actually the tallest man on earth?” 

Cas smiled. “I don’t think so, though he probably is very tall. He’s Swedish. I think the actual tallest man on earth is Ajaz Ahmed. He’s eight foot four.” 

“You made that up…” Scoffed Dean. “How can you possibly know that?” 

“I’m magic,” Cas winked, giggling at Dean’s astonished face. Dean refused to believe him until he’d found his phone and googled it. And Cas was right, of course. 

“Favourite movie?” 

“Oh, ‘The Untouchables’, one hundred per cent.” 

Cas shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it.” 

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “It’s like one of my favourite movies ever. I must’ve seen it like fifty times.” He stood up, pulling Cas out of the chair with him. “C’mon you _gotta_ see it!” 

He tugged Cas into their tiny living room where the TV was surrounded by stacks of DVDs, CDs and guitars. The squishy sofa in the corner was laden with blankets which they curled up underneath; Cas’s head in Dean’s lap. 

“Sorry it’s so small,” Dean apologised with a sad smile. “We’re trying to get a bigger place, I just haven’t found anywhere I like yet.” 

“It’s perfect Dean, don’t worry about it. I’m just happy you’re not crying this time,” Cas replied. 

Then, and hour or so later, above the twang of Robert de Niro’s voice came Cas’s whisper. “Move in with me?” 

Dean almost missed it; he was watching the film too intently. “Move in w- what? Are you serious?” 

Cas sat up, looking Dean straight in his Dean-green eyes. “I mean it, move in with me,” he whispered, gnawing at his lips. 

“I… Wow… um? Okay? Okay. Yes,” stuttered Dean, utterly overwhelmed by the offer. 

The other man beamed. “You’re kinda cute when you babble like that,” he commented, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. 

“I just? Don’t you think it’s a bit fast? I mean…” Dean mumbled, worrying already. He was such a worrier. Lisa had always teased him for that fact. 

The sound of gunshots from the TV punctuated their conversation. “It’s doesn’t have to be immediately,” said Cas. “Besides, Gabriel wants to move out so there would be a room for Elsie.” 

Dean’s eyes lit up. He turned to Cas, grabbing his wrist. “Hey hey hey!… what about a… house swap? Gabe could move in here, just temporarily if he doesn’t like it, and we could move in at your place?” 

Cas’s mouth fell open. “How did we not think of that before?” 

He looked around for his phone to call his brother, but Dean stopped him, saying, “No no, this is the best bit! You gotta watch this scene.” 

A laugh escaped Cas’s lips and he moved them to meet Dean’s. Dean sighed into the kiss and Cas nibbled gently on his lower lip, his tongue running over Dean’s piercings and making Dean shiver with pleasure. 

Gently, Cas pushed Dean down so he was lying on his back on the cramped sofa, denim-clad legs hooked over the end. 

Dean swallowed a moan. “Cas…” he breathed, his eyes lust blown and shining. 

Cas kissed him again, soft and lingering while the guns blared on the TV. Then he sniggered. 

“What?” It came out harsher than Dean expected as his brain was preoccupied with that _pressure_ , that sweet, lovely pressure that was quickly building in his crotch area. 

“I just never took you to be a bottom,” Cas explained, kissing Dean’s nose and moving so he was directly above Dean on all fours, his knees on either side of Dean’s chest. 

Dean playfully punched Cas’s shoulder. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, but with no real conviction. 

Then, Robert de Niro’s voice sounded in the background and Dean sat up. 

“Come on,” he said, pointing at the screen. “Watch the movie. Then, later,” and here he waggled his eyebrows, “We can get dirty.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Cas replied, settling himself down again, sprawled over Dean and under the blankets, with Dean’s hand carding through his hair.


	31. Is that man affiliated with the mafia?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little... heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.
> 
> Trigger warning: mentions of scars from self harming. 
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating self injury. Any errors with the Russian are from Google Translate. If you are a native speaker or have a better translation, please comment or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

They didn’t manage to watch the end of the movie. It wasn’t really Cas’s cup of tea anyway – too many special effects and not enough emotion for his liking. He preferred obscure foreign films about star-crossed lovers, tragic poets, and scar riddled teens. Sometimes he watched them without subtitles and made up the dialogue to amuse himself. He and Balthazar used to do that because the sound on the DVD player in the children’s home had never worked.

Gabriel had been less interested and had preferred to prank Bartholomew or Naomi and blame it on one of the other children: usually Metatron. He always got away with it, somehow. Gabriel just had a thing for pranks. That was probably how he fell into petty crime after they ran away. He never got arrested, but Castiel and Balthazar had given him such a stern talking to, that at the time, the youngest Novak had thought prison would’ve been better.

Once they moved out of the home, Cas and Balthazar had watched movies with the subtitles on, trying to pick up phrases from whatever language the movie had been in. Balthazar had discovered his love for French by watching _Jean de Florette_ on repeat. After that, he’d surrounded himself with French novels and dictionaries, films and music, and by the time he was twenty-one, he was practically fluent. He just had this thing for languages.

Cas not so much. He’d picked up rudimentary 1970s Russian from watching rented reel-to-reel cassettes, but hadn’t got any further than “ya tebya lyublyu” (I love you) and “yavlyayetsya to chto chelovek svyazan s mafiyey?“ (is that man affiliated with the mafia?)

Anyway, Cas wasn’t the greatest fan of The Untouchables, and Dean had watched it so many times he could practically recite the script backwards, so it didn’t matter that as the credits rolled, they were naked and breathless, Dean kneeling between Cas’s legs.

Cas’s hungry eyes roamed over Dean’s colourful, muscular body. There were so many tattoos he hadn’t noticed, and hadn’t heard the stories behind. But right now, his mind was filled with _please don’t look at my scars_ and _Dean_ and _Jesus … f-fuck that feels good._

Dean, in turn, looked at Cas’s tanned body with wide, lust filled eyes as he sucked Cas slowly. Cas squirmed with pleasure above him, swallowing little moans as his eyes fluttered open and close. He could feel Dean's tongue piercing against himself. It was cold and flickered back and forth, contrasting to the wet heat that enveloped him.

“D-Dean…” Cas breathed, bucking involuntarily his boyfriend’s mouth. His nose was running. “Ohh… fuck…”

Dean choked a little, but continued.

Cas’s toes curled and he squeezed his fingers into Dean’s long hair, moaning quietly. “Dean… Dean… I-”

The skin at the edges of Dean's mouth was beginning to hurt. He pulled his lips away with a loud smack and moved his right hand from around Cas’s ass where he’d been using it to steady himself, to his throbbing cock, which had been obnoxiously bobbing against his bare stomach for quite some time. He groaned loudly as he pulled his hand up and down, his head rolling back.

Cas tugged roughly at Dean’s shoulders, bringing the other man’s cracked lips in front of him. “Are you… going to finish?” He asked, shutting his eyes so he couldn’t see the purple tally marks on own his arms.

Dean shook his head, his green eyes dark. He dropped his hands and stood up, pressing his lips quickly to Cas’s.

“Want you… inside me…” Dean uttered into Cas’s mouth, and Cas could’ve come right then and there, just to Dean’s husky voice, hoarse from the blowjob and that godawful cold Cas had given him.

Cas whispered back, his words almost lost in a tangle of lips and tongues. “Ok.”

“Bed,” Dean muttered, too wrecked for full sentences. He pulled Cas along the narrow corridor, stopping only when Cas shoved him against the wall and kissed him until he was so deprived of oxygen he started seeing stars.

Somehow, in their haziness, they made it into the bedroom. Dean rummaged in his bedside drawer and chucked a condom at Cas, who put it on hurriedly.

“I thought you? hadn’t?… why have you… got condoms…?” Asked Cas, confused and utterly distracted by Dean’s warm hands rubbing lube up and down his latex covered length.

“Haven’t. Bought these for you,” Dean replied, shutting Cas up with a kiss. 

"Don’t you? Don’t you need ... preparing?" Cas questioned, face flushed. "I don't know… how this works..." he mumbled, staring at the white lines on his thighs.

Dean chuckled, embarrassed. "No… ‘m all good… had some fun yesterday… with a glass dildo." He lay down on his front and spread his legs wide, a pillow under his hips. He teased his hole with a lube-covered finger.

Cas’s eyes stumbled up to Dean’s face. "O-oh... So do I just...?" 

Dean nodded. Cas lined himself up and slowly pushed his way into Dean. Dean shuddered with pleasure, trying with all this his effort to not rut against the bedclothes. “Cas. Move.” He said, after several seconds had passed with just their heavy breath filling the air.

“Oh,” whispered Cas in reply, holding onto Dean’s hips for balance. Then, “ _Oh._ "

Dean had never felt anything like it. Sure, he’d had boyfriends, but he’d been practically prepubescent, when a good blowjob counted as hard-core sex. And sure, he’d had his fair share of dildo experience, but to have someone else doing the work... to feel Cas’s heat and slick wetness and hear his little breathy moans as he pulled in and out… that was something else. 

Cas had been in Dean’s position many times, all of which he wanted to block out of his mind. His experience with men in the past had been... not so pleasurable. Women however... his relationship with Meg, the rebellious girl he'd met just after he'd moved to Kansas, had been much more to his liking. He also found that to his surprise, being inside a man was very different from being inside a woman. You couldn’t be as rough, and it was somehow hotter and _tighter._

But something was wrong. Cas loved staring at Dean’s colourful back and plump ass, which was one of the only places on his body with un-inked skin; he could hear Dean’s gasps, feel his muscles rippling beneath him, but he couldn’t see his face. When he pulled out of Dean and didn't return, Dean whined.

“Roll over and sit up,” Cas breathed, throat sore. 

And Dean did so, his green eyes dark and sparkling with anticipation. “Why?” he asked softly. Something about these situations always called for ‘softly’. 

“I want to see you… properly,” Came Cas’s strained reply as he rubbed the underside of his cock with his thumb. He moved from his position on all fours, to sitting on the bed with his legs spread wide and motioned for Dean to sit on his lap. 

“You want me to… sit on your dick?” Dean asked. 

Cas nodded, all flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. Sweaty neck. Sweaty chest. 

Cas pressed kisses to Dean’s collarbones and wrapped his arms around the tattooed man. Dean wrapped his legs around Cas’s waist and melted into his boyfriend’s touch. He lifted himself up with his hands on the old mattress and sank onto Cas. 

The new position meant that Cas soon found his lips attached to Dean’s, his hands roaming up and down his back as he thrust slowly up and down. And _oh God_ did it feel good.

Cas noticed little things, like the way Dean couldn’t keep his eyes open, the way his whole body shook with pleasure, how his voice was gravelly and how his hair was sticking up in every direction, catching the light so that Cas could see every individual strand. Then he stopped noticing, suddenly. And it was all gasps and sighs and loss of rhythm. And, for lack of a better description, moans. Panting. Cursing. Kissing. And then he came. 

And as he did, Dean fucking lost it. His arms and legs wrapped around Cas, he rocked up and down a few more times in desperation, before he followed suit, spilling onto Cas’s stomach and a bit on his own chin, and maybe a bit on the bed sheets, but by this time, Dean really did not care. 

Cas mumbled something, what must have been minutes later, and Dean opened one eye, not quite catching the words falling from his boyfriend’s mouth. They were lying on the very left side of the bed, practically on top of each other, with the bedclothes strewn around the room. One pillow was on the floor. The other two were by the en-suite bathroom door, and in Dean's quick, sex-hazed scout of the room, he couldn't see the fourth. Neither of them could remember quite how that happened. 

Elsie would wander in in the morning. Elsie would want breakfast, and Cas and Dean would be naked, fast asleep and in desperate need of a bath. Elsie would... 

Luckily, Dean had the piece of mind to pull on his oversized stripy pj bottoms at some point during the night. He yawned, throwing a t-shirt and some boxer briefs at the sleeping brunet and forcing him to put them on, despite it being “like four in the fucking morning Dean what the fuck go back to sleep you assbutt.” 


	32. “What does ‘A’ ‘C’ ‘D’ ‘C’ mean?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas get ready for work and share some of the low points of their teenage years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: non graphic descriptions of underage rape, prostitution, and some mentions of scars from self harming.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating sexual abuse or self injury.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Dean, with practiced ears, heard Elsie’s light footsteps in the hallway and jumped out of bed. The room span, but he managed to compose himself enough to bend down and give his daughter a kiss on her forehead. 

“Sleeped well daddy?” She asked, her voice innocent and singsong. 

Dean nodded. “Yeah munchkin, I slept well. Did you sleep well?”

Elsie nodded. “Nutella.”

“Cereal,” Dean corrected. “Cereal today. You had Nutella toast yesterday, and you remember we said Nutella every _other_ day? Otherwise-” he made a scary face, eyes smiling. “-your teeth will _all fall out!_ ” He grabbed her stomach, tickling her until she was laughing uncontrollably.

He left her alone with her rice crispies while he took a quick bath, glad to rid himself of the sweaty, musty smell and stickiness that he regretted not washing off last night. 

Clean and dry, he removed yesterday’s smudged eyeliner and reapplied it - not much, but just enough to make his eyes stand out, just enough to make people stare. He shaved; new earrings went in; a bit of hair gel here and there. He was just pulling on a nice pair of black jeans (no rips in them this time) and a respectable black button-down, when Cas groaned and rolled over.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Dean teased. “Gotta get up for work soon.”

Another disgruntled moan. Dean ruffled his hair affectionately. 

“I’ve made coffee…” Dean tempted.

One eye opened slowly. “Really?” 

Dean nodded and Cas slid slowly out of bed, moving one limb at a time. He shuffled to the kitchen, and was greeted with Elsie bounding towards him, milk and puffed rice around her mouth. 

He picked her up and swung her round, pressing little kisses to her stomach as she flew above his head. She laughed, wriggling, drops of milk falling from her mouth.

“These yours?” Cas asked, once he’d put Elsie back in her seat and pointing to his underwear (black, snug fitting boxer briefs).

Dean nodded, catching Cas’s eye for a moment. “Yours are still by the TV.” 

“So we have attained the stage in our relationship where we wear each other’s underwear.” Cas sipped his coffee, the honey in it soothing his sore throat.

“You complainin’?”

A smirk. A waggle of eyebrows. Cas laughed and went into the living room to retrieve his jeans. He kept the boxers on. It was kind of sexy, wearing Dean’s underwear, and he liked it. He also kept the t-shirt that Dean had chucked at him in the middle of the night. It was dark grey with the letters ‘A C’ then a lightning strike, then ‘D C’. Cas didn’t know what it meant, but he liked it. It was _Dean's._

Jody picked Elsie up at just after half past eight, just as Dean and Cas were getting ready to leave for Biscuits and Books. A satisfied smile graced her lips as Dean and Cas both waved the three-year-old goodbye; as she realised that the two men were together. Cas even thought he heard an “I knew it!” as they walked away, Elsie swinging her packed lunch and babbling happily. 

“Last night was…. amazing, Dean,” Cas said once Jody, Elsie and Owen had left. 

Dean nodded. “You wanna switch it up sometime? It seemed pretty awesome from up top too. I’d like to try that.”

Cas tensed. “No, I don’t think so.” 

They were standing in the hallway outside the apartment. Cas walked back inside. Dean closed the front door, his feet sock-less and cold.

“It’s – It’s not just the scars, is it?” Dean called, following Cas into the bathroom. Something had clicked. 

Cas started brushing his teeth. He shook his head, mouth full of foamy toothpaste. He registered Dean’s hand on the small of his back, a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“What happened?”

When Cas didn’t answer, Dean said. “I used to have sex for money, once. Started when I was like fifteen, sixteen? Somethin' like that. My dad used to leave me and Sammy alone for so long we’d run out of money. Sometimes we stole food,” he shrugged, “begged. Sometimes I hung round bars at night, managed to pick up enough money to feed us. It was consensual, most of the time. I never enjoyed it, but it brought bucks home so I never complained.”

Dean felt Cas’s eyes on him, staring at him in the mirror. “I never told Sammy, nor Lisa until it had long stopped, but Sammy guessed. I did it right up until I was like twenty something, so he musta been sixteen? And he wasn’t a stupid kid. He was a great kid actually. I used to wanna be him when I grew up.” He cleared his throat. “Still do, actually.”

Cas didn't reply. He finished brushing his teeth, and Dean stood there in silence, his hand running up and down Cas's back soothingly.

“How can you talk about something like that so… nonchalantly?” Cas asked, breaking the quiet and spitting toothpaste into the sink.

Dean shrugged again. “I got over it. Hated myself for it for a long time, but it’s in the past now. You gotta move on, ya know?”

“I was raped.” The toothpaste drained down the sink slowly. Cas rinsed his mouth out, Dean’s hand still on his back. “Foster family. I was fourteen years old. They found out I was gay – someone caught me making out with a guy in the locker room at school.”

The sink gurgled. “The husband forced me to have sex with his wife, to make me straight again. It happened five times. He got off on watching us.” Cas closed his eyes. 

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist, interlinking his fingers on Cas’s stomach to keep him steady; keep him here. “Angel…” he murmured. “’m so sorry.”

Cas continued. He could feel himself slipping; slipping back to his teenage self. Scared. Alone. Crying. Bleeding. 

The lips pressed to the back of his present-day self’s neck helped. “Then when that didn’t work, the husband r-raped me, to show me how painful and unpleasant anal sex could be, so I would be put off being gay.” Ha gave a sad little laugh and turned around to kiss Dean. “Obviously it didn’t work.”

Dean kissed him back, his thumbs caressing Cas’s cheeks. He ignored their dampness. 

"You shaved." Cas pouted. "I miss the stubble." 

Dean punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'll guess you'll just have to stick around then. Wait for it to grow back." Then, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Telling me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“But you want to be on the top during sex, and I will most likely have a panic attack, so it is almost definitely out of the question.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Almost_ definitely?”

“Definitely,” Cas corrected. “For now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Dean repeated. “Despite the… ugh…. outward appearance… being bottom really fucking turns me on.”

“So you like the sensation of being controlled?” 

Dean laughed. A loud laugh in the quiet bathroom, with the drip drip drip of the tap and the distant sound of cars on the street outside. “Only by you.”

Cas turned the tap on, and the dripping became a steady stream. He went to roll his sleeves up, but realised he was wearing Dean’s t-shirt. His scars were on full show. To Dean. To Elsie. To Jody and Owen. _Fuck._

“It’s okay,” murmured Dean, over Cas’s sharp intake of breath. “No one noticed, I promise.” He perched on the edge of the counter next to the sink. Water splashed onto his jeans as Cas washed his face. “Besides, you look good in my shirt, I like it.”

“You know I left my pajamas in your bottom drawer. You didn’t have to lend me your clothes.”

“I forgot,” Dean said honestly, as Cas shook the wet water out of his hair like a puppy. “But also you look hot in my clothes, so I’m not complaining.”

“What does ‘A’ ‘C’ ‘D’ ‘C’ mean?” Cas asked, reading the letters out slowly. “Is it describing alternating current and direct current?”

Dean fell off the counter he was so surprised. “AC/DC? They’re a band! Australian? The fathers of heavy metal? Like one of the best selling bands _of all time_?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” More water fell from Cas’s face as he shook his head. 

Dean shoved a towel at his chest. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late. We’ve got a twenty-minute car journey to listen to all their greatest hits. I can’t have you wearing their t-shirt and thinking it’s about electricity.”


	33. “Do you love Cas?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet evening in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!
> 
> Disclaimer: Contains a small Criminal Minds reference. I don't own Criminal Minds, nor do I own Supernatural.

Elsie came home that afternoon with grazes on her hands and knees, her jeans ripped. 

“She says she fell over,” explained Jody apologetically as she stood on the doorstep of Biscuits and Books. Owen was still in their car. “They put some band-aids on but I think they’re falling off. I can run to the corner store if you need some?”

Cas smiled, picking the three-year-old up and kissing her hair. “No, don’t worry about it, I got it. Thanks for picking her up.”

“Anytime,” she winked. “See you tomorrow.” Her voice rang out over the passing traffic as she got back into her car. “Tell Dean I said hey.”

“Will do,” Cas nodded. “How was your day, Sweetheart?” He asked as Jody and Owen drove away. 

Elsie pouted, burying her head in Cas shoulder. “Fell over.”

Cas ruffled her chocolate coloured curls. “I can see that.” He sat her on the reception desk next to the box of stationery they had on sale and kissed the scratches on the palms of her hand and the bandages on her knees. 

“Want Daddy.” Her face crumped and tears rolled down her freckled cheeks. 

“Daddy’s working at Bradbury’s today, remember? You’ll see him soon,” Cas soothed. “It’s nap time now, anyway.”

'Soon' was at a couple of minutes past seven, just after Dean had locked up the tattoo parlour for the day. He let himself in and headed up the steep staircase to the Novak apartment. The familiar, musty smell of coffee and books washed over him.

Gabriel had made Elsie’s dinner in the kitchen downstairs so that he didn’t have to be away from the bookshop, and like usual, bought it up for her at around six where Cas sat with her as she ate. Today it had been…. something with rice. Well that was what Dean guessed, as Cas was on his hands and knees picking up individual grains that had been squashed into the cracks between the floorboards. Three-year-olds plus rice was never a good combination.

Dean set his guitar down on the sofa and knelt down to kiss the back of Cas’s neck. The other man jumped in surprise.

“Hey,” grinned Dean. “In your own little world there, huh?”

“Huh,” echoed Cas, reaching back to kiss Dean on the lips, his hands caressing the navy blue, spikey swirls that wrapped themselves around Dean’s neck. 

“Where’s my angel?” Dean asked, sitting back on his haunches and helping Cas pick up the rest of the rice. “My other angel,” he corrected. “The small one. You’re my first angel.”

“I’ve just put her to bed. I know it’s a bit early,” (It was ten past seven; Elsie’s bedtime was a half past) “but she looked exhausted. She fell over at school today, grazed her hands and cut her knees,” Cas said.

Dean’s face fell. You could see the _my poor baby_ thought flash through his head. 

“I gave her a shower, changed her band-aids, put her in her pajamas and a diaper, read her a book… She’s probably still awake.”

“You’re so good with her.” Dean kissed the top of Cas’s head and poured his collection of rice into Cas's hands. “You,” he exclaimed softly, “are an godsend.” He stood up and padded into Cas’s room where Elsie was snuggled on the beanbag. 

Cas smirked. “Well, I am an angel,” he reminded his boyfriend.

Elsie was indeed awake. Her eyes fluttered open as the door opened and yellow light spilt into the room.

“Daddy!” She whispered, and Dean knew that her eyes were sparkling and a toothy grin split her face, even though it was too dark to make out much in the room. 

His heart warmed. His _baby girl_. “Hey munchkin… I missed you.” He knelt down to hug her, and she lifted up her small arms to wrap them around his neck. 

“Shaved.” She noted, nuzzling her cheek against his own and stroking it with her chubby fingers, still tinted green from the painting she’d done in school. 

Dean nodded softly, brushing his smooth cheek up and down hers. “I did.” 

She reached out in the gloom and brushed his lips, his nose, his eyes with her fingers. Dean followed her fingers with his mouth, catching them and nibbling on them gently. Elsie gave a tired laugh. He kissed her grazed palms, her baby-soft forehead, her little button nose, inhaling her scent of toddler-safe shampoo and toothpaste. 

“I love you, pumpkin.” 

A question, then. So innocent, so observant, and Dean was so very taken aback. “Do you love Cas?” 

“Uhh… what? Yes?” Then more certainly. More hushed. “Yes. I love Cas. I love Cas very much. I love _you_ very much.” 

“I love you too daddy,” she whispered back, unaware of just how perceptive she really was. But then again, age has never really been a mark of intelligence. 

He stood up and said goodnight. He gently closed the door until it almost clicked shut, leaving just enough space so that Elsie could see a yellow frame of light in the darkness. 

__Cas was on his feet, the grains of rice in his cupped hand. “She asked me the same thing, you know.”_ _

__"Oh? What did you say?” That little, niggling thought of doubt was back. What if he was making all of this up? What if Cas didn't love him back. What if he was just here because he felt sorry for Dean, or because he needed someone to help out in the shop. What if -_ _

__In the evening light, Cas’s features looked soft and supple. He smiled bashfully. “The same thing as you, obviously.”_ _

_Oh..._

__“Obviously,” Dean echoed, trying to make it sound like he knew that all along. It came out more relieved than sarcastic, like he was repeating it to make it seem true._ _

__“Obviously.”_ _

__And then they were kissing, and the rice in Cas’s hand forgotten; falling grain by grain to the ground with a soft pattering that was lost under Cas’s gruff voice._ _

__“I love you. I love you so fucking much. I think about you and my heart fucking implodes.” Breathless, now. “I look at you and… and…”_ _

__Dean inhaled. “Me too.” Exhaled. Inhaled. Pulled Cas closer. Something cold and hard dug into his stomach, and he wrapped his fingers around what turned out to be a key; heavy and antique-looking. He hadn’t noticed it before._ _

__“I found it on the street last Monday. No one seemed to know whose it was so I took it,” explained Cas softly, breathlessly._ _

__“And made a necklace,” Dean breathed back, his words hot on Cas’s lips. “Of course you did.”_ _

__“I wonder what it opens?” Cas mused, his cheekbones grazing Dean’s ear._ _

__And Dean replied without missing a beat, “My heart.”_ _

__*****_ _

__They were on the sofa, now, with the TV on in the background. Neither of them was paying much attention. Dean’s foot ran up and down Cas’s calf as he browsed the Internet for potential tour venues. Cas was flicking through channels, eyes drooping with sleep. He listened without really listening, the words washing over his head. It was like hearing everything underwater._ _

__Dean’s voice cut sharply through the haze, jolting him awake. “Hey, your brother’s on TV.” He pointed at the screen. BBC World News was on. Cas must have clicked past all of his usual channels onto the mainstream ones._ _

__Cas groaned. “He’s always on TV. What is it now?”_ _

__Dean cocked his head towards the TV._ _

_”… as of this afternoon, the Syrian army have regained Maaloula, a town 56km north east of Damascus. The jihadist forces declared their withdrawal at noon today, under the condition that-”_ Cas muted the TV. 

___“Tea?” he asked._ _ _

___Dean nodded. World news and war updates weren’t really Cas’s thing. Dean neither. “Does he always report on war stuff?” he asked._ _ _

___Cas filled the kettle. “Yes. He likes the thrill of it, apparently.” He switched the kettle on and the room was filled with the rumbling, bubbling noise of water boiling. “He always did like adventure. It pays well too.”_ _ _

___Two spoons of loose tealeaves into the strainer. “How come he sounds so… British?” Dean questioned._ _ _

___Cas chuckled, pouring the almost boiled water over the tealeaves. (It was green tea tonight, and to make good green tea it is imperative that the water has almost boiled, but not quite. Boiling water makes for very bitter green tea, and Cas was not one to go serving bitter tea.) “He put it on, once, to get a summer job. He wanted to appear international… travelled. He called himself Clyde. But he ended up keeping the job, and had to come clean about the fake name. The accent stayed though, for some reason, and from there on out, it stuck.”_ _ _

___The tea was steeping now. (Dean had learnt a lot of new vocabulary from being around Castiel, though most of the words were tea related. Steeping meant waiting until the water had absorbed all of the tealeaves’ flavour. At least that’s what Dean thought it was.)_ _ _

___“He does a good Irish accent too, on St Patrick’s Day. He wears all green for a week just to get in the mood. The year he left, he bought all of the St Patrick’s Day candy from the local corner shop and drove back in the middle of the night to the orphanage to give them to us. I had three big bags of green candy hidden in my room, and Gabriel and I gave them out secretly to all of the children.” Cas was beaming; his face split into one of those smiles that you just can’t repress, no matter how hard you try. One of those smiles that only happens when you think about someone you love._ _ _

___“Seems like a good guy.”_ _ _

___Cas nodded. “He is. We had so many fillings though. Bart and Naomi just couldn’t figure out why we suddenly all had toothache.” He chuckled the memory. “He’s so good with children too, but he doesn’t want any of his own. He’d rather spend life with a never-ending queue of one-night stands. And he never shuts up about his fling with the head of the Interpol British office, was originally an FBI agent. She's apparently the prettiest woman alive; at least according to Balthazar. Emily something….” He strained the tea, pouring it into two separate mugs. “Sorry, I’ll shut up about my brother, I’m probably boring you to death.”_ _ _

___Dean accepted the steaming mug gratefully, shaking his head. “No, no, go on. You’re so happy when you talk about him. I like that.”_ _ _

___Cas smiled bashfully. “He used to look after all the toddlers in the orphanage when Bart and Naomi were off doing … whatever they did. I used to help him. That’s why I’m so good with Elsie, seeing as you keep asking. I’m not so talented with new-borns though. There was this little boy who was only three or four months old…” Cas sat down heavily on the sofa next to Dean. “I could never get him to sleep.”_ _ _

___“Well you do pretty good with Elsie, even on her grumpy days,” remarked Dean. “She really loves you.”_ _ _

___“I really love her too.”_ _ _

___They didn’t talk for a minute or too, but listened to the cars outside; Elsie’s heavy breathing from the room next door; the muffled sound of whatever video game Gabriel was playing in his room. The clink of Cas’s mug on the coffee table broke the quiet. He took Dean’s mug out of his hands, silencing his protests with the well known, effective method of pressing his own lips to Dean’s._ _ _

___“I really love you.”_ _ _

___“I love you too, angel.”_ _ _


	34. Gluggaveður

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer draws to an abrupt close, bringing cold, rainy days and Halloween.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Arabic and Icelandic come from Yahoo Answers and Google Translate. If you are a native speaker or have a better translation, please comment or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Autumn came suddenly; a door opening onto a drag of cold, windy days and a myriad of falling leaves. For Dean, September blurred into October with a steady routine of the school run, work and those precious, lazy Sundays spent with Cas. 

One Sunday, they woke to a pounding of rain on Cas’s slanted attic windows. Cas had curled up sleepily, happily, against Dean’s warm chest, inhaling the faint scent of shower gel and his own orange-flavoured lipbalm that Dean kept stealing. Cas loved the rain. They’d stayed inside, watching movies all day, and popcorn wars had ensued, followed by a pillow fight. Elsie and Gabriel had joined in, of course, all teaming up against Dean until they’d tackled him to the floor and started tickling him until he was crying tears of laughter. (He wouldn’t admit it, but Dean was _incredibly_ ticklish. Underarms especially.)

They had watched _The Exorcist_ when Elsie was napping; ‘they’ consisting of Dean and Gabriel: Cas had mainly hidden behind a pillow for the duration of the film. Relentless teasing ensued, of course, but Cas had got his own back when he made Dean watch _The Notebook_. Dean had cried his heart out, leaving a trail of eyeliner-smudged tissues over the sofa, and Cas had to hold him for a solid minute until he had calmed down.

Balthazar was still in Syria. Cas had received a couple of texts; witty and rude as was Balthazar’s custom. They could made Cas grin quietly in a corner for hours on end. Balthazar taught him that _"Neek"_ meant 'sex' in Arabic, said that Syria was still just as dangerous, and that he would be reporting there for another couple of months before coming to visit them at Christmas. 

Dean learnt a new word that day too: _Gluggaveður_. 

“It’s Icelandic,” Cas had explained over his third cup of tea - liquorice and cinnamon flavour. “It's my favourite word. It literally translates as ‘window weather’, but there’s no word for it in English.”

Dean had snuggled to Cas, enjoying the warmth of the duvet on top of him and the sound of the heavy rain outside. “What does it mean?” He’d asked.

“It means the type of weather that is enjoyable to look at through a window, but not very pleasant to be out in,” Cas had explained. “This type of weather… this is my window weather.”

The next Sunday, Dean and Cas had celebrated the confirmation of The Hunters’ debut tour, which would be in January. After weeks of planning, of sending Spotify playlists and press kits to venues across the country, they’d finally been accepted and would be playing small gigs in Kansas and the surrounding states. 

Champagne had seemed appropriate. They drank it lounging on a mountain of duvets and pillows on Cas’s futon, which had been there from the blanket fort they’d made with Elsie earlier in the day. It was a clear night, and even though they were in the middle of a city, the stars had still been visible. They’d watched them contentedly. 

“It was a huge disappointment,” Cas had said softly, “as a child, to fall in love with the stars and then find out how much _math_ it requires to get anywhere near them.”

Dean had replied, “Maybe some things are better when you see them from far away.”

“Maybe.”

The next Sunday, the topic of Halloween came up. For Dean, the October festivities had always been something that _was_ best seen from afar. All of the costumes; the masks and the ‘sexy’ superheroes, the sequins and the stomach-turning gore, freaked him out. Cas on the other hand, was a big fan. He’d never had the opportunity to go trick or treating as a child (Halloween was seen as the Devil’s holiday in the orphanage), and now poured all of his excitement for the holiday into Elsie’s first experience. 

Elsie, naturally, had wanted to be Elsa from _Frozen_. They’d bought her an adorable costume and Cas set to work making her a tiara out of wire, ribbons and adhesive gems. It’d turned out beautiful. 

When the day itself rolled around and it was time to take Elsie to her first Halloween party, Dean and Cas couldn’t find her. They searched all over the apartment with no luck, but eventually found her in the bookshop downstairs, hiding behind the reception desk.

There were felt tip pens strewn over the floor and ink all up Elsie’s arms and legs; bright, colourful scribbles which clashed with the silky blue of her dress. Some of the pen ink was _on_ her dress.

“Oh sweetie, what have you done?” Asked Dean, dismayed.

“I wanna be like you, daddy.” She said, her green eyes big and round and shining. 

When he still didn’t understand, she said, “Tattoos!” her voice cracking with frustration as she thought he didn’t like them. "Wanna be superhero."

Dean eyes moved dangerously close to being wet. Elsie was already crying. He squatted down and hugged his daughter as hard as he could. “Oh, Pumpkin, I’m sorry. I love them. I love your tattoos.”

Cas appeared, having hurried downstairs in relief to find Elsie safe and sound. “I love them too, Elsie,” he said. 

Elsie beamed, her eyes drying and her homemade tiara catching the afternoon light. 

“But, how about we make them even better, huh? Can Daddy and I help you to finish them off?” Cas asked, moving behind the reception desk to kneel next to the three-year-old.

Elsie agreed, and Cas and Dean set to work adding snowflakes, mountains and stars to her masterpiece. She looked quite the punk!Elsa by the time they’d finished. They were all very proud. 

And with Cas’s arm around his waist and Elsie holding his hand, Dean felt a little more comfortable with the whole situation. Sometimes all it took was a bit of inspiration from someone quite unexpected to make the negative feelings go away. Besides, there was going to be free candy at this kindergartner’s party, so Dean was more than happy to go. He was less happy about the flashing pumpkin necklace that Cas had insisted he wear, but he didn’t say anything. Tonight was about Elsie. 

The kindergartner in question was Jemima Wilson; a sweet girl of four years old who had invited the whole class of thirty children to her house for a Halloween party. There was going to be a lucky dip; apple bobbing; costume awards; craft activities… Elsie was going to love it. 

To add to the excitement, Dean and Cas had promised to take her trick or treating along Jemima’s street, so Dean parked the Impala a couple of door’s away from the large Wilson house. Elsie could barely contain her enthusiasm. She talked incessantly throughout the fifteen minute car journey, babbling on about _Frozen_ , Gabriel, chocolate, tattoos, how she really wanted to meet Balthazar (or Bal-tar as she called him). She only quietened down once Cas picked her up so she could ring the doorbell of the first house. 

They heard the bell sound loudly inside, and excited footsteps followed. 

“Say it just like we practiced,” whispered Cas, his eyes sparkling with the candlelight from the carved pumpkins in the front yard. Dean hung back, allowing Cas to share this moment with Elsie. 

A lady with a witch’s hat and a green painted face opened the door, flooding pale light into their faces. 

“Trick or treeeeeat!” Elsie called, bouncing up and down. 

Smiling, the witch revealed a set of yellowing, rotting teeth. She pulled a large black bag from under her many cloaks and held it out to Elsie.

“Take your pick, Queen Elsa,” she said, and then curtsied. No comment was made regarding the tattoos.

Awestruck, Elsie dipped her hand inside the bag and came up with a fistful of candy. 

“Thank you!” She exclaimed, jumping up and down and dropping some of her goodies in her excitement. Dean stooped to pick them up, and took the rest from Elsie to put in his bag.

“Uhh, thank you,” he said to the witch, avoiding eye contact with her.

Cas took Elsie by the hand. “Happy Halloween!” he called as they left the witch’s pumpkin-lit front yard. Dean trailed behind, making sure to avoid the dark expanses of grass where god-knows-what could be hiding. His pumpkin necklace flashed obnoxiously.

The next few houses were much the same: a pirate, a ghost, and a devil all opened the door for Elsie and Cas, and all gave plentiful amounts of candy. Elsie was well and truly blown over by the whole experience.

Dean was just glad to finally arrive outside the Wilson’s house. It would be warm and light inside, and hopefully there’d be some booze to take his mind of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, "Autumn." I'm British. Sometimes I use Americanisms in this fic because I get so into writing how the characters speak, and its easier for you guys as most of the fans of Supernatural are from the US. So sometimes there's a "mom" and a "pants" in there, and sometimes I mix up American English and British English (I hope that's okay), but I really, really cannot stand the word "fall"! Besides, autumn is such a pretty word! 
> 
> __________________________
> 
> "“It was a huge disappointment,” Cas had said softly, “as a child, to fall in love with the stars and then find out how much _math_ it requires to get anywhere near them.”"
> 
> ^ I took this from a tumblr post as I thought it was such a beautiful quote. I couldn't find an original author because it's been reposted so many times. If you know who wrote it, please comment here or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/) so I can credit them.


	35. Who the fuck was Lizzy Bennet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't enjoy the Halloween party, and ends up outside, panicking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: panic attacks, anxiety attacks, vomiting
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating the above triggers.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

It was hot inside the Wilson’s house, almost uncomfortably so. Dean took off his leather jacket and hung it up in the hallway. There was a crowd of toddlers in the open plan living room doing craft activities with some of the parents. Puddles of glitter sparkled on the floor. Other children were playing with some lego and a trainset. There was another little girl dressed as Elsa. She had long blond hair in an authentic Elsa plait, and was playing with her ‘sister’, Anna, whose costume was also very accurate. There seemed to be a lot more than just thirty children. Apparently Jemima’s older brother, a six-year-old named Jason, had invited his class too. 

Dean was offered a beer from a tall, broad shouldered Mr Wilson, which he took gratefully. Elsie had run off to play with the other two girls from Frozen, and Cas had been swallowed by the crowd of adults in the kitchen. Nibbles were offered, cocktail sausages and mini cream cheese and burgers. Dean refused them politely. 

A mom, Linda, started making small talk with him: What was his child’s name? (It was said cautiously, as if she was checking he was actually a father and not some creeper who’d snuck in from the streets.) Elsie’s a pretty name. Was she enjoying school? That’s a lot of ink you’ve got there, did it hurt? Do you remember Halloween when we were kids? Have you tried the mini burgers? 

Dean reciprocated, but his answers were short and snappy. He could feel the other parents’ judging eyes on him, drinking in his tattooed skin and numerous piercings. He downed the beer.

“Did you see his daughter? The one with pen on her arms?” Another mom said in a hushed voice behind him. Maybe she thought he couldn’t hear. 

Another female voice replied. Dean imagined her shaking her platinum blond head as she whispered, “What a bad influence.” 

“No wonder he can’t hold down a steady job. It’s the tongue piercing, I’m telling you.” 

Dean tasted the metal in his mouth, rolling the piercing against the roof of his mouth, trapping it between his teeth and tugging until it stung. “Excuse me,” he said to Linda, and pushed past her to the mass of people in the kitchen in an attempt to find Cas. 

God, it really was hot in here. He fiddled with his tongue piercing. Where was Cas?

He interrupted a conversation to ask that very question. The two dads didn’t know.

“Dark hair, orange pants and a skeleton t-shirt, ye high?”

They shook their heads, disapproving eyes running up and down his body, taking in his artfully slashed t-shirt with red mesh under the rips, his tight jeans held up with a bullet-belt. The comparison with their slouched blue denim and polo shirts, too tight around the abdomen, was stark.

"It's not a costume," he heard one of them whisper as he walked away. "He looks like that every day."

Dean’s throat tightened. He picked up another beer as he left the kitchen and wandered around the house looking for his boyfriend. Finally, he caught sight of the back of Cas’s head, his scruffy mop of hair sticking in all direction as per usual. 

Cas was talking to another man who was dressed in a suit with a weird, high-necked, ruffled collar. It looked surprisingly good on him. He was tall, taller than Cas even, with high cheekbones and warm dark eyes. Many of the parents had made a minimal effort, but he had really gotten into the whole costume side of Halloween which made Dean so uncomfortable. Dean tapped Cas lightly on the shoulder.

Cas turned around. “Hello, Dean,” he beamed. “This is Jake. Jake, this is my boyfriend, Dean.” 

They shook hands. Dean became incredibly aware of how sweaty his were. 

“I was just telling Jake about Biscuits and Books,” Cas explained. “He’s an English teacher, hence the Darcy costume.” 

Dean nodded blankly. The only Darcy he knew of was a ‘Mr Darcy’ from a porno, and he wasn’t about to reveal that, especially as Jake was eyeing him nervously after the ‘boyfriend’ comment. _It was probably a different Darcy anyway,_ Dean thought bitterly.

Cas and Jake resumed conversation. It was an intellectual conversation in which Dean felt he didn’t belong. He swallowed thickly, and melted back into the crowd. Cas and Jake didn’t seem to notice. Dean caught the end of, “… his feelings for Lizzy Bennet develop within the first couple of chapters, but he…” as he left. Who the fuck was Lizzy Bennet?

Dean caught sight of Elsie. She was trying to play with the other Elsa and the Anna, but they wouldn’t have it. “Princesses don’t have tattoos!” The Elsa said, her voice proud and piercing. 

Several parents looked around. What seemed to be the girl’s mother hurried over and whispered in her child’s ear, but the ice queen still refused to play with Elsie, and her crony, Anna, agreed. The mother apologised to Elsie, and offered to play with her instead, but Elsie refused. Dean could see that she was about to cry. 

He should go over. He should help his daughter; make her feel better; make her feel loved and wanted, and let her know that princesses could have tattoos if they wanted to. He should…

He swallowed thickly, the room swaying. Where was Cas? He was no doubt still talking to that Darcy character, and Dean had lost sight of them in the mass of adults. 

There were too many people. Too hot. Too loud. Dean swallowed again. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth. He tasted bile.

No. No no no no no no no. This wasn’t happening. Not here. Not here not now. Please. Where the fuck was Cas?

He pushed his way blindly through the crowd and to the front door, talking in gulps of cool, fresh air as he made his way around the house to the back yard for some privacy. He hadn’t really noticed the music until he was outside and could feel the beat pounding in his ears. It wasn’t particularly loud; it was a party for kids after all, but it was _there._ And all Dean wanted was for it to be quiet. He wanted Cas. He wanted Elsie.

He heard screaming from inside, and squeezed his eyes shut. It was just toddler – screaming: attention crying; crocodile tears. It wasn’t Elsie, that much he could tell. But what if it was? He was such a shitty father. He’d abandoned his own crying daughter and now he was outside having a fucking full blown panic attack. The last time this had happened was the 16th August 2011, two and a bit years ago. The sound of his phone ringing in the peaceful summer's afternoon still haunted him. And fuck... he wanted Lisa.

Furiously, he wiped his own eyes as he paced up and down in the Wilson’s dark backyard. It was so dark. What if someone… something was out there? If monsters did exist, Halloween would be a prime time for them to strike. He tried to block that thought from his mind. 

His teeth were chattering like it was a frosty winter’s day, not a mild October evening with the heat of pumpkin lanterns warming the air. He took in a harsh, shaky breath, willing himself not to throw up. The more he thought about not vomiting, the more the feeling persisted. He tried to focus on something, anything, to take his mind off it, but eventually it always came back to _I’m gonna hurl. Fu-fuck... I'm gonna hurl._

Then something touched his back.


	36. Inhale. Exhale.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas helps Dean through his panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: in detail panic attack, vomiting, self harm thoughts, self harm, descriptions of scars from self harming, (minor) suicidal thoughts
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating the above triggers.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Dean spun around, his eyes wide and wild with fear. It took a second for him to realise that it was Cas. 

“Where’s Darcy?” He snarled bitterly. 

Cas looked confused. “What? Oh… Dean… you didn’t really think? Dean he’s just a friend – I just met him! We happen to like the same books, okay? Nothing more.” 

He moved closer to Dean, trying to wrap his arms around him. Dean shook his head fleetingly and stumbled backwards. The movement caused everything to spin. 

“Dean, it was nothing. I love _you._ I promise,” Cas said softly, rubbing Dean’s back. 

“S’not – s’not that,” Dean replied, shaking off Cas’s hand. “I… S’just… Gonna puke.” He shuddered.

“Okay. Okay," Cas said, and Dean could see him reassessing the situation, going into doctor-mode. "It’s okay, you're safe,” he soothed, reaching out to touch Dean again. 

Dean jumped, taking in a raspy breath. “Stop!” He shouted, his eyes tightly shut. Then, quieter, “P-please…”

Cas nodded. “Okay, no touching. That’s okay,” he said. “Hey… Look at me.” 

Dean’s eyes lifted nervously to meet Cas’s. He felt lightheaded and woozy, like he was blind drunk. He’d only had two beers.

_Stop panicking, goddammit. Stop panicking. Stop it._

“You’re okay,” Cas whispered. 

Dean shook his head. “You’re t-too good for me,” he choked. “Why are you w-w-with me when you c-could be with some s-smart-ass English professor so you could t-talk about b-books all day?” _Gonna puke. Gonna puke. Fuck. Shit._

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Cas replied. “I love you. I love you for you; I don’t care that you-”

Dean retched: hunched over and shaking uncontrollably. The sound of it made Cas’s stomach turn. The bile burnt Dean’s throat, and Cas had disappeared, leaving Dean to chuck up his lunch all by himself. 

This was how it would end, right? Cas leaving him for someone better, someone more intelligent. Dean gagged, spitting out what was left in his stomach and trying to ignore the taste. He shivered and sat down heavily on the damp grass; tears streaming down his face. 

He was such a useless father. A useless boyfriend. What was he even doing alive? He caused his family more pain than happiness. What was the point in living? He scratched at his arms, frustrated tears dripping onto his jeans. The scars underneath the tattoos seemed more obvious under the light of his stupid flashing necklace. His own scars were messy: all different directions, depths, widths and lengths, newer ones overlapping the old. Cas’s were different: horizontal, thin and evenly spaced, resembling a ruled notepad. Dean’s could pass for scars from a car crash. That’s what he used to tell people, when they asked; he’d been in a biking accident when he was a kid. It was plausible. Cas just looked like he’d been through a bread-slicing machine. That was the difference between Cas and a crazy person like himself, Dean thought angrily.

His throat burned and he became very aware of his wrists. They felt heavy. He could feel the blood throbbing through them, waiting to be released by a blade. He scratched at them again, fingernails moving in time to the flashing of his necklace. 

His breathing became ragged again, and his mouth was drier than before. His mind returned to Elsie. He wondered how she was doing. He didn’t have the energy to go back inside and see for himself. His heartbeat hurt in his chest.

Cas came back with a bottle of water and a stick of gum. He handed them to Dean silently, rubbing his fingers over Dean’s knuckles when their hands touched. Dean could see how hard it was for him to be powerless in this situation. He could see how much he wanted to hold him.

“’M sorry,” Dean mumbled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He rinsed his mouth out with the water and spat it onto the grass. He exhaled shakily. Inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. _Why am I freaking out? This is so fucking stupid._

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exha- It was all getting too much. Too fast. _Stop it. Stop fucking panicking._ He ripped off the flashing necklace and threw it behind him. The darkness was better now that Cas was with him.

Cas shook his head. “Don’t be.” He held out his hand to Dean and Dean accepted it, allowing Cas to pull him up so he could stand. “Let’s sit on the porch.”

Dean followed Cas away from the small puddle of vomit and towards the cool, soft tiles of the Wilson’s porch. They were still holding hands as they sat down. Dean’s chest was tight. 

“Dean, you need to breathe properly,” Cas murmured, and he breathed slowly, in and out, indicating that Dean should copy. 

“Hurts,” he whimpered, sounding too much like Elsie. 

“You can do it,” Cas encouraged. 

And Dean tried, but there wasn’t enough oxygen in one breath. It was too slow. His breathing sped up again. Cas’s fingers massaged Dean’s knuckles. “Slower…” Cas instructed. “In for two, hold for two, out for two,” he said, sounding like one of those dumb relaxation tapes Dead had tried all those years ago.

Dean tried. He really tried. His breaths came in shaky gasps, but they slowed down, eventually. His legs started shaking and he couldn’t get them to stop. Frustrated tears gushed down his face, and Cas sat there not knowing how to help. 

But his breathing was slower now. That was good, Cas told him, really really good. “Now try three seconds,” he said. “In for three, hold for three, out for three.”

Dean did so. Then he managed to do it for four seconds each time. He smiled, embarrassed, when Cas said he was doing really well. It was just breathing, for fuck’s sake. Even babies could breathe without someone telling them what to do.

He was exhausted now. His legs were still shaking, and his nails gouged red lines into his colourful wrists. 

“Dean, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

His voice was barely audible. “I – C-can’t.” 

“You can.”

“Can’t.”

"Can." Cas took hold of Dean’s wrists, his warm, big hands holding them firmly. “Better?” he asked, squeezing them, putting pressure on non-existent wounds.

Dean nodded. “Hug me,” he whispered, avoiding eye contact. It was such a childish thing to say, he was almost ashamed to hear it leave his lips. 

“Of course,” came the reply, and Dean moved so he was sitting on Cas’s lap, with Cas’s arms around him tightly, and Cas’s face buried in the crevice of his neck. 

He was still crying, but for no reason in particular. What a strange sight it must have been: a six-foot-something guy wearing all black, sobbing, curled up in someone's lap, with black eyeliner stained tears gushing down his face. He tried to push it out of his foggy mind. Cas’s arms were comforting, and the sound of his breath in his ear was something Dean could focus on. He stopped shaking, after a while. The music from inside seemed to quieten and he could hear himself chewing the gum. He felt himself drifting off as the adrenaline left his body. It helped too, that Cas was stroking his hair, his back, his neck, murmuring things that Dean didn’t quite catch. It felt like he was listening to everything in slow motion.

The panic came back a couple of times, and his eyes opened wide, and suddenly Cas’s arms were too confining, the music too loud, his breathing too loud, the chewing too loud. He was sweaty and shaky and couldn’t catch his breath, but Cas calmed him down. It was just the after shocks of the panic attack, Cas told him. They were shorter and less intense than the first one.

“It’s okay…” Cas reminded him, again and again. “You’re okay. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

They’d only been outside for twenty-five minutes. To Dean, it felt like hours; days even. He started shivering again, not from panic this time but from cold. Cas suggested that they go inside. Ten minutes ago, Dean would’ve reacted like Cas was suggesting they walk into an active volcano, but now he was calmer and it didn’t seem too bad. 

Inside was neither as hot, nor as crowded, nor loud as he remembered. He shrugged on his jacket to keep warm and accepted a mini burger (which were delicious – Linda was right.) 

He saw Elsie playing with a kid who bigger than her, wearing a blue and purple train outfit. Elsie loved trains. She had some felt tips. She was about to draw on his arms. Dean processed this slowly. Cas hadn't noticed. Dean ran over.

“No! Elsie sweetheart, you don’t draw on other people,” he blurted, grabbing the pens from her little fists. 

A woman’s voice replied, “Dean, it’s okay. I think’s it’s kinda cute.”

Dean turned around, confused. Who - ? “Jody!” He said. “Hi!” 

So it was Owen under the train suit. 

“Hi kiddo,” she said, studying his face. “God, you look like death. You okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” he said, moving the subject on quickly. “You sure it’s cool if Elsie gives Owen some ink?” He dabbed at the dark streaks on his face. At least it was Halloween - it could be part of a costume.

“Of course! Was it Elsie’s idea to give herself some tats?” She asked.

Dean nodded. “Said she wanted to be like me, but also be a princess.”

Jody cooed. They chatted for a little while longer, but it was getting late. Elsie needed to go to bed, and Dean even more so. 

As they left, Dean apologised to all the people he’d been snappy to beforehand. They took a handful of candy each from Mr Wilson (and Dean took another burger: they really were fantastic) and said their goodbyes. 

“Did you like that Elsie?” Cas asked, swinging her onto his shoulders while they walked down the street to the Impala.

“Mmmhmm,” she responded sleepily. “Best party.”

They reached the car, and Dean slid into the driver’s seat, putting the keys in the ignition. The car rumbled to life and the vents gushed heat into their faces. It smelt of car oil, leather and the old fug of cigarettes, even though Dean had given up when Lisa got pregnant. The exhaust pipe spluttered and the lego that Dean and Sam had shoved down the vents when they were kids, rattled.

“Dean, no way are you driving. Slide over,” Cas ordered. 

Dean rolled his eyes, but did so anyway. “Can you even drive?”

“I never took the test.” Cas shrugged. “But it seems pretty simple. I know the theory; the science. I think I can work it out.”

Dean started to protest, but when Cas pulled the car expertly out of their parking space and he didn’t say another word. He fell asleep on the drive back, and woke up as Cas pulled over outside his apartment.

“We’re not at yours?” Dean asked, confused.

“Thought you might need your own bed tonight,” Cas said quietly, and Dean’s heart warmed. His bed was bigger and comfier than Cas’s, and it meant that Elsie didn’t have to sleep on a beanbag. 

“Thank you,” he said. He slid over to kiss Cas’s forehead. “You’re awesome.”

“You more,” Cas replied, kissing him on the nose.


	37. “Adressat Unbekannt.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's three a.m, and they're in Dean's apartment. And something is very, very wrong.

Dean wasn’t sure when he realised Cas was awake and shifting around next to him. He was too sleepy to do anything about it. Some time later, a light switched on, and he heard Cas go to the bathroom. The fan whirred and the toilet flushed, and Cas came back to bed wearing the orange flavoured lip balm that Dean had stolen from him. 

The light didn’t seem to switch off, and Dean could hear, over his own soft breathing, the rhythmic turning of pages every couple of minutes. Cas was reading. (When was he not? Dean rarely found Cas without his nose in a book, or a paperback sticking out of his back pocket. How many books had Dean found in Cas’s apartment, tea stained and dog-eared? How many books were there littered in _Dean's_ apartment because Cas was reading so many at once that he forgot to pick them all up when he left?)

Dean lost consciousness. When he next woke, he couldn’t tell how long he’d been out, but the light was still on and Cas was still reading. His limbs were lead-heavy and his eyes felt as if they were glued shut, but somehow he managed to lift an arm and reach out to where he thought Cas was. He ended up finding Cas’s thigh and patting it awkwardly in a gesture attempting to say ‘I’m here. Why can’t you sleep? I hope you’re okay’. 

He would’ve felt Cas kiss his hair had he been awake enough. He would’ve heard Cas whisper, “I’m okay. Just a bit... restless? Go back to sleep. I love you,” but Dean was already snoring softly. It seemed that awkward thigh patting was quite an effective form of communication.

Dean couldn’t tell what woke him up. Maybe it was the light: it was offensively bright, and he scrunched his eyes up until they were almost shut so that he could see. The book was open, page down, on the bed between them, but Cas's eyes were closed. Dean dog-eared the page, because that’s how Cas liked it (and because he didn’t own a bookmark for fuck’s sake), and moved it carefully to the floor. Cas shifted, making endearing snuffley noises that resembled that of a small baby or a kitten. He opened his eyes cautiously, but the light was too bright and he squeezed them shut, groaning as he fumbled for the switch. 

“Who the fuck left the fucking light on?” He muttered, mouth full of pillow.

Dean chuckled softly. “You did.”

“What a fucking idiot,” Cas grumbled in response, eventually finding the switch.

And then it was blissfully dark. There were soft noises coming from the kitchen: the fridge was creaking, the washing machine clock ticking; one appliance or another hummed quietly every couple of minutes; the twenty-first century noises of a sleeping house. It was comforting, Cas found. 

Dean laid his head on Cas’s shoulder and wrapped his legs around the other man. He could feel Cas’s heartbeat; feel his chest rising and falling; hear his steady breathing. 

“Love you,” Dean murmured. 

“Love you back,” came the reply, slow and thick with sleep. “How are you feeling?”

Dean swallowed. “Better. I’m sorry.”

Cas pulled him closer. “It’s okay… It happens. I get it, believe me I get it.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “You don’t have to apologise for it.”

Dean shut his eyes in muted frustration. “I’m still sorry.” 

“And I’m still fucking telling you: it’s okay.”

It took Cas about an hour to figure out what it was. He kept drifting in and out of sleep, but there was a soft, almost inaudible buzzing that he couldn’t place. He thought he was imagining it, and willed himself to fall asleep.

He woke again to Dean shaking his shoulder gently. “Cas, baby… Cas. Cas.” A hand caressed his hair, lips touched forehead. “S’that your phone?” 

Cas’s heart dropped in his stomach. His eyes snapped open. His phone was on vibrate. He’d put it like that last night when he’d gone back inside to get a bottle of water and some gum for Dean, so that Dean wouldn’t be overwhelmed with loud noises if someone called.

_No one ever calls with good news at three o'clock in the fucking morning. ___

He stumbled out of bed, searching blindly for his phone. Dean switched the light on, and they both squinted in the glaring light. Cas muttered a string of constant swear words, and left a trail of mess as he moved through the house like a whirlwind, trying to locate the ringing phone. Dean followed the sounds of “fuck shit fuck fuck fuck fucking fucking shit,” out of the bedroom, switching on all the lights after Cas until they found the phone, vibrating softly, among the candy and pile of coats they’d left on the kitchen counter. 

“Who is it?” Asked Dean.

“Adressat Unbekannt,” Cas whispered, and Dean didn’t know what he meant, didn’t even know what language Cas was speaking. Why was Cas even speaking in a different language? 

Cas would later tell him that ‘Adressat Unbekannt’ was the name of a book written in 1938 by Kathrine Kressman Taylor, called ‘Address Unknown’ in English. 

“It tells the tale of a Jewish art dealer, Max, living in San Francisco, and his correspondent, Martin, who had returned to Germany before the start of the war. Martin joins the Nazi party and asks Max to stop writing to him, because if it were discovered that Martin was exchanging letters with a Jew, he would lose his job and his life and family would be in danger. Max is angered by this and keeps writing letters in which he implies that Martin is also Jewish. Martin is frantic, and begs Max to stop, but Max is incessant. One of Max’s own letters is eventually returned to him, stamped ‘Adressat Unbekannt’ – ‘Addressee Unknown.’” Cas would explain.

“The power of words,” Cas would say, “is incredible. Murder by mail. I love that book. It’s only flaw is the translation: ‘adressat unbekannt’ means ‘address _ee_ unknown,’ not ‘address unknown’. It’s infuriating.” 

“You’re incredible,” Dean would reply. “You literally know everything.”

Cas would shrug and stare at the floor, embarrassed. “Ich liebe dich. I love you,” he’d say, and Dean would pull Cas close and wrap his arms around his middle, just as he was doing now.

The phone stopped vibrating. 

The silence was thick and heavy. Dean pulled away from the hug and sat on the kitchen counter next to the heap of candy and coats.

There were twelve missed calls from the number. Cas’s eyes met Dean’s. They were wet, hopelessly wet and full of sorrow. 

“Call them back. Don’t jump to conclusions,” Dean whispered, but in his mind all he could think was _something’s wrong, something’s really really fucking wrong._

Cas shook his head sadly. “Who calls someone twelve times at three in the morning?” His words were barely audible. 

“Call them back, Cas.”

So Cas did. It rang twice before it connected: the longest two rings of Cas’s entire life. 

A woman, English accented, answered. _”Hello, is this Castiel Novak?”_


	38. Numb on the inside.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No one ever calls with good news at three o'clock in the fucking morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: grieving, mild violence
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Cas forgot to breathe. Her words: _”Hello, is this Castiel Novak?”_ played on repeat in his head; a cruel broken record. He opened his mouth to speak but it was so dry that no words came out and Dean had to reply for him:

“Yeah,” he said slowly, warily, sleepily. He glanced at Cas.

_“I’m Jennifer Cook. I work with the BBC. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”_

Cas inhaled sharply and let out a shaky breath. He gripped the kitchen counter hard, his knuckles turning white.

 _“Are you still there?”_ Jennifer asked gently, after almost half a minute had passed. 

“Yes,” Dean said for Cas, again.

_“Your brother Balthazar was in an accident. He was reporting in Khanasir in Syria where there was heavy shelling from the rebel fighters.”_

“Is he okay?” Cas asked, too quickly, his words running into each other in an effort to escape his trembling lips. 

_“I’m so sorry,”_ Jennifer continued, pausing.

Cas let out a strained sob, guessing what was to come. Dean stayed silent, frozen on the countertop. Didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe.

 _“He was killed.”_ She paused again. _“We wanted to notify you before it got out to the press. Two other reporters were also killed. It’ll be on the morning news. I’m very sorry.”_

Cas said nothing. His face was set hard. He stared into space, into the nothingness that inhabited Dean’s kitchen. 

“Uhhh... thank you. For calling,” Dean said into the phone. 

_“We’ll need to discuss arrangements for flying your brother back from Syria, but I’ll call back at a decent hour for you, say eight o'clock?, once you’ve had some time to process the information,”_ Jennifer said, her voice almost robotic. She sounded as if she did this sort of thing often. _“My condolences.”_

There was a beep: long, and too reminiscent of a flat line to be comfortable. Then she hung up, her words still ringing in the air.

 _He was killed. He was killed. He was killed. He was killed he was killed he was killed. Killed. Killed. Killed._

The way she had said ‘process the information’ made it sound as though Cas was crunching numbers, not standing statue-still and staring blankly at Dean’s kitchen cabinets.

_My condolences. My condolences. My condolences. Condolences. Condolences. Condolences. Condolences._

Dean sat very still. Cas was facing away from him, almost nose-to-door with the faux wood cupboard. Outside, a cat meowed, a car drove by. The night was an endless brown smudge of light-polluted sky. Inside, all was silent. 

Cas’s hands clenched into tight fists. All of a sudden, he struck the cupboard loudly, making Dean jump and the plates inside rattle. He hit it again. And again. The punches got noisier and more frequent, denting the thin cupboard door. He put his whole weight behind them; shoulders twisting and muscles rippling, but his face was stony and emotionless. 

Maybe he was so numb on the inside that he couldn’t feel anything on the outside either; because he didn’t seem to notice the bruises flowering on his knuckles, or the careful hand Dean placed on his shoulder.

“Cas… Stop.”

But Cas kept on hitting the cupboard, every blow echoing loudly in the small kitchen. His breathing became more erratic, but his face remained blank. He looked at Dean with a cold stare as he turned around slowly, fist still raised. He shoved Dean hard in the chest. Dean stumbled back and collided painfully with the kitchen counter. 

“Fuck! Cas! Stop it man!” Dean yelled. “You’re gonna wake up the whole block!” 

Cas walked over to Dean in two swift steps, grabbing him by the neckline of his t-shirt and pulling him close. His lips pursed together in rage. “Leave me. The FUCK alone.” He panted, hot breath hitting Dean’s cheek. His blue eyes, dry, bored into Dean’s.

Dean tried again, softer this time. “Please, Cas. Stop it. You’re hurtin’ yourse-” 

He was cut short by a wail from Elsie’s room. He locked eyes with Cas’s for a fleeting moment and tried to say, _‘I’m sorry, I’ve gotta look after my daughter,’_ in just a stare. It ended up more like a _‘look what you’ve fucking done,’_ and Cas stared back with something that looked very like _‘fuck off’_. Dean didn’t know how to fix that, so he left.

He pushed Elsie’s door open and gathered her up in his arms, along with the blankets and numerous soft toys she was clutching. There was a grunt and another deafening blow from the kitchen.

“Shhh… baby… it’s okay. Go back to sleep,” he soothed, kissing her pillow-matted curls. 

She fisted her hands into his t-shirt and whimpered.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Go back to sleep… you’re safe, I promise. Everything’s okay,” he said, but when Cas thumped the kitchen cupboard again, they both flinched too hard to pretend that everything was indeed, ‘okay’.

Then it went silent. Elsie mumbled something incomprehensible and settled back down. Dean tucked her in, his heart beating fast in anticipation for the next blow to his cabinet. He kissed her forehead; whispered goodnight and padded back to the kitchen. 

He found Cas running his hand calmly under a stream of cold water. His pajama bottoms sagged to reveal the small of his back, and he was wearing Dean’s AC/DC t-shirt. Dean hadn’t noticed until now.

Cautiously, he asked, “Can I get you anything?” 

“What are you now, my waitress?” Cas replied sharply. His tongue was dry and kept sticking to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed vigorously. 

“I’m just try’na make you feel better, don’t be a bitch,” Dean said. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” quickly followed. Cas was grieving. Cas came first. _Don’t be a bitch, Dean,_ he told himself.

Cas nodded. “Me too. I shouldn’t have pushed you. And I’ll pay to repair the damage I caused to your cupboard.” His voice was calm and collected, a small apologetic smile even touched his lips. “Do you have any peas?”

Dean cocked his head. “Why, you hungry? Now?”

Now Cas full on _grinned_. “No, you idiot. For the swelling.” He lifted his hand out of the sink and attempted to waggle the reddening fingers.

“Ahh, okay,” Dean said. “Now I get you.” He walked over to their small freezer and dug around for some peas, eying Cas suspiciously all the while. He was too composed, too unfazed, to have just heard the news of his brother’s tragic death. 

“You good?” He implored, handing Cas the bag of frozen peas. He tried to do what Cas had done for him earlier that evening; the thing where Cas had squeezed Dean’s hand as he’d given him the bottle of water and the gum. It had been surprisingly comforting. But for Dean, it didn’t work, and he ended up grabbing the corner of the bag of peas and feeling like an idiot. Cas didn’t seem to notice. 

Cas looked him directly in the eye and nodded reassuringly. “Yes.”

It was almost believable. Had Dean not known what had just happened, he would have agreed. Cas was fine. 

But he wasn’t. Not really. Obviously. 

“I have to call Gabriel. They won’t have notified him. We never added him to Balthazar’s next-of-kin list: the paperwork was always too daunting. As far as the BBC knows, Gabriel doesn’t actually exist. Funny that,” Cas told Dean as if he was reading out a shopping list. Each word blurred into the next.

“Besides, we never added him because Balthazar always had that invincible air-” He choked back a sob. His voice climbed higher in his throat, “A-a-about h-him,” he finished, voice wavering high so it sounded like a question. 

The bag of frozen peas dropped to the floor. The tap was still on, gushing.

Cas sobbed against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean rocked him back and forth because isn’t that what you’re meant to do when someone’s crying? That’s what he did with Elsie. Cas's blunt nails dug into Dean’s back, leaving little moon shaped bruises.

“Fuck…” Cas whimpered, inhaling wet t-shirt. “Jesus… Fuck…” 

Dean held him tightly, whispering, “I love you,” over and over again until Cas shifted and wriggled out of his arms. He scrubbed his wet face with his fingers, smearing snot and tears over his smooth cheeks. He picked up his phone and called Gabriel.

It went to voicemail. Cas tried again. And again. And again.

"Cas, he'll be asleep," Dean murmured, stating the obvious. 

Cas didn't seem to register what Dean had just said, and picked up his trench coat from the kitchen counter, letting the other coats and scarves which were tangled there fall to the floor. He didn't seem to notice.

Dean grabbed his wrist. “Where you goin’?”

“Home. I have to t-tell Gabriel.” The coat swung in his hands.

“Angel, he’ll be asleep. Let him sleep,” Dean suggested. “We’ll drive over first thing in the morning, like I'd do anyway if we were gonna open the shop,” he said.

Dean saw Cas was about to open his mouth. "Which we're not," he added firmly. "Shop's staying closed, at least until Monday." Cas tried to speak again but Dean cut him off. "Or I will personally lock the door and hide the key, capisce?"

“Yes, capisco," Cas replied defeatedly, and Dean wondered why he was surprised that Cas knew the correct Italian way to reply.

"But he’ll be angry that I knew before him,” protested Cas, swinging the coat. 

“What is this now, a competition? It’s not gonna do him any more good if you tell him at three a.m. or seven a.m, yeah? Hell, he’ll probably take it better if he’s rested. I figure you gotta wait for the right time to tell people bad news. So either you walk over there by yourself or you stay here with me, we go back to bed, and I drive you there in a couple hours.” 

“You forget, I can drive,” Cas said weakly as Dean led him back to bed. He left the coat on the floor, next to the others and the slowly defrosting bag of peas.

Dean pulled the covers over them. “Not when you’re like this, you can’t. And you don’t have a license,” he quipped. 

Cas opened his mouth, but Dean pressed a finger to his lips. “Stop arguin’ with me, angel.” He kissed Cas wetly, tasting the salty tears that had pooled on his upper lip. 

“C’mere,” he murmured, later, tugging Cas closer. An hour and a bit had passed, and Cas was lying on his side, facing away from Dean. He’d stopped crying, and now everything was numb. Apart from his hand. His hand really fucking hurt. Dean went to get him some ice because the peas had defrosted. Cas couldn’t sleep, but he wasn’t awake either. His red-rimmed eyes were glazed and unfocused. He barely registered Dean rolling him over to face the other way.

“C’mere,” Dean repeated, and Cas shuffled closer, slowly; every movement exhausting him. Dean wrapped one arm tightly around Cas, using the other as a pillow. He hooked one tattooed leg over Cas’s to shift him even nearer, stroking Cas’s calves with his bare foot.

Cas listened to Dean breathing, his heart beating steadily: all the little details of life that he was suddenly aware of. His head tucked neatly into Dean’s neck, slotting under Dean’s stubbled chin. Cas himself had shaved only yesterday, before they’d gone to the party. Gabriel mostly went clean-shaven, but was a fan of large, stick-on moustaches that made Elsie giggle. Balthazar always sported a blond, scraggly moustache-goatee combo. 

_Had always,_ Cas corrected himself. _Did. Past tense._

He pressed his face into the mattress, a new wave of tears burning in his eyes. “Oh, God,” he rasped. “Oh God.”

And Dean held him.

Sometime afterwards, they found themselves still awake and Dean started humming 'Hey Jude' to help Cas fall asleep. His voice was thick with sleep and it kept getting stuck in his throat so the notes didn't always leave his mouth, but Cas got the picture. And he did fall asleep, minutes later; a tangle of limbs and bed-hair, safe in Dean's arms.


	39. What was that dog even about?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean leaves Elsie at Sam and Jess's so he can properly look after Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Dean was up and dressed at six, and could hear Elsie waking next door. He tiptoed into her room and lifted her out of her bed. 

“Hey gorgeous. Sleep well?” He kissed her hair, rubbing his nose against it and making a show of how puffy it was. 

“Mmmhmmm,” She replied blearily, nuzzling against his cheek and giggling softly at how his stubble tickled her face. 

“You wanna see Uncle Sam and Auntie Jess today? Have a sleepover at their house?” He asked brightly as he carried her into the kitchen to make her some breakfast. She clung to him, koala-style, her arms around his neck and her legs around his torso, rucking up his Metallica t-shirt.

She nodded enthusiastically as Dean sat her down at the table, demanding, “Nutella!” eagerly.

When Dean said no, advocating for cereal or fruit, or just anything healthier for his daughter, she said it louder. “Nutella, daddy! 'TELLA!” She shouted, banging her hands on the table and laughing. “Nutella!”

Dean didn’t have the energy to say no again. His panic attack and the three a.m. happenings really weren't doing his sleep patterns any favours. “Okay, princess, okay!" He yawned, exhausted and exasperated, over Elsie's clamouring. "You can have Nutella, just as long as you have it-”

Cas stumbled in, rubbing his haggard face. The AC/DC t-shirt was impossibly rumpled, and his hair stuck up in every direction. He had thrown a blanket around his shoulders like a cape, and it was trailing on the floor.

“-quietly,” Dean finished. “Sorry angel,” he apologised, moving around the table to kiss the other man.

Cas shook his head and waved a hand in front of his mouth so that Dean’s lips touched his fingers. “Mmmmm… no… morning breath,” he protested, and sat down heavily.

“Sorry Cas!” Elsie echoed her father loudly. 

Dean gave Cas a quick, unsuspecting peck on the lips anyway. “I’m more worried about the gravity-defying hair,” he grinned, ruffling the dark locks lovingly. “Coffee?”

Cas gave a non-descript grunt in reply.

He called Gabriel again before they left, and, as expected, there was no reply. He was still calling at six thirty as they were leaving for Sam and Jess’s, and kept at it until they arrived at their front door. They stood outside in the nippy morning air, and Elsie jumped around on the front lawn, mesmerised by how the October chill made her breath visible. Cas clung to her Batman backpack, which was stuffed with toys; her lunch for school; her toothbrush and her pajamas, and Dean rang the doorbell.

Minutes later, a disgruntled, bleary-eyed Sam opened the door. “Dean? What’ya doin’ here?”

Dean smiled. “Heya Sammy.”

“So early,” Sam mumbled. “S’everything okay?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe sleepily. A cool morning breeze ruffled his pajama bottoms, and he was wearing the purple dog t-shirt that Dean hated so much. (Seriously, what was that dog even about?)

Jess’s voice floated down the stairs. “Who is it, babe?”

“S’Dean!” Sam called back up.

Jess yelled back down. “Gimme a minute!”

Dean looked around awkwardly. “Uhhh… can we come in for a sec?”

“Sure,” Sam said, bending down and ruffling Elsie's hair in a sleepy hello. She wrapped her arms round his neck and he picked her up lovingly, shepherding them all inside.

He smiled warmly at Cas. “I’m Sam,” he said, holding out his hand around the three-year-old clinging to his neck. “You must be Cas.”

Cas shook his head hurriedly and held up his swollen hand, “Sorry – injured hand. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, though.”

“You too.” Sam stifled a yawn, heading through to their open plan kitchen-living-dining room where he set Elsie down on the sofa with some of her toys.

“Sit down, sit down,” he ushered, pointing towards the fancy breakfast bar stools. He flicked some buttons on their expensive espresso machine. 

“So what happened to your hand, Cas?” He asked, face in the fridge as he searched for the milk.

"I… uhhh… had a rough night,” he answered tensely, looking desperately at Dean for some help.

“Sorry to hear that,” Sam replied. 

The coffee machine started grinding coffee beans. If he weren’t studying the polished concrete of the breakfast bar so hard, Cas would’ve loved Sam’s pretentious coffee habits. (Dean was more of an instant granules kind of guy: cheap and quick were his only criteria.) When Cas didn’t elaborate, Dean eventually got the hint. He reached out and squeezed his boyfriend’s good hand.

“Cas just got some bad news. His brother was reporting in Syria and got in an accident – didn’t make it. We were wondering if Jess could take care of Elsie today, maybe overnight too, while we get things sorted?” 

"Oh... Cas, man. I'm so sorry," Sam said gently. 

Jess’s padded into the kitchen. She was wearing one of Sam’s sweatshirts which stretched over her six-month bump. “If Jess could what?” She yawned.

“Look after Elsie until tomorrow,” explained Sam. “Cas here just lost his brother and needs to sort out some stuff.”

From the sofa, Elsie piped up. “Gabe is lost? I can help you find him!” The adults smiled sadly.

Dean gently corrected her, saying that Gabe was still alive and it was Cas's older brother Balthazar who wasn't with them anymore.

Cas swivelled round on the barstool. “Hi. I’m Cas. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Jess practically squealed. “Finally!”

She glared at Dean. “How dare you leave it so long, Dean!" She said, playfully swatting at his face and then giving him a chaste peck on the cheek when he, sleep deprived and dozing off, didn't react. 

She turned back to Cas. “It’s great to meet you too, Cas. I'm so sorry about your brother. I bet he was a great guy.”

Cas sniffed, nodding. “I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances,” he apologised, accepting a large cup of coffee from Sam. He didn’t even notice until afterwards that Sam had put honey and milk in it, just how he liked it. It took ‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ to a whole new level of coffee-related detail, and made Cas glow with happiness. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jess reassured him. “It’s no big deal. I’m properly on maternity leave now anyway, because this little monster,” she said, patting her stomach, “Is not very good at sharing fluids with mommy.” (The low levels of amniotic fluid she’d had back at the beginning of August still fluctuated between normal and unhealthy, and she was taking daily supplements to increase her hydration.)

Cas smiled, avoiding eyes contact. “I’m sorry to hear that," he said, echoing Sam's words because he didn't have the energy to find his own. "When are you – when are you due?” He forced himself not to tear up, but felt the prickling onset of tears. He squeezed Dean’s hand tighter.

A death in the family is often followed by a birth, not as some sort of compensation for the person lost, but as a natural cycle of life and the inevitable death. The birth just seems more... prominent... noticeable... bittersweet. _Fuck. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

“Second of February,” she responded proudly.

Sam’s watch started beeping. It was seven. “Guys, I gotta get ready for work,” he said, downing his coffee and running his hands through his fluffy hair. 

“We should get going too, if that’s okay,” Dean added, standing up and pulling Cas with him because they’d refused to stop holding hands. 

“It was real nice to meet you, Cas,” he said. “I’m so sorry about your brother.”

“Thank you,” Cas replied, managing to tear his eyes away from the floor. They glistened wetly. Sam and Jess tactfully ignored it. 

_Fuck. Stop it. Stop crying. Stop crying!_

“You should come round sometime,” Jess offered. 

“Thank you,” he said again. “Thank you for the coffee. Thank you for looking after Elsie.” He wiped his eyes; blush creeping up on his cheeks. This was not how he’d planned to meet Dean’s family. 

“We should leave, before I start to sound even more like a broken record.” His voice was dangerously high, but his mouth twitched at the corners.

It was a weak attempt at humour, but thankfully everyone laughed loudly. 

“You should hear this one sometimes,” Sam joked, wrapping his arms around Jess’s waist from behind and resting his hands on her belly. He bent down to kiss her cheek and rest his chin on her shoulder. “Sam can you get this? Sam can do this? Sam Sam Sam!” He mimicked. 

Jess poked his face. “You try carrying a baby for nine months.”

The younger Winchester groaned. “Jesus, don’t even make me think about it!” He kissed Jess lovingly on the cheek again and started to make his way upstairs. “I swear to God, Jess, you’re superwoman!” 

Jess laughed, flicking her long, curly hair. “He dreams, he dreams.”

“No, really, he’s right,” added Dean. “You’re a life-saver.” 

Then, realising what he’d said, he turned and caressed Cas’s face gently, thumbing away the wetness on his cheek. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Slip of the tongue.” He kissed Cas gently, and Jess made herself busy playing with Elsie on the sofa.

“Let’s go,” Dean whispered, desperately wanting to stay. Sam and Jess’s house was bright and happy and carefree, filled with Elsie’s giggles and Jess’s pop music. As soon as they walked out that door, he’d have a grieving Cas, shortly followed by a grieving Gabriel, to look after. 

He told Jess what time to drop Elsie off at school, what time to pick her up, and that all her stuff was in her little Batman backpack, which Jess instantly fell in love with. He trusted his sister-in-law immensely. ( _Future sister-in-law_ he corrected himself. Sam hadn’t actually popped the question yet, but was planning too after the baby was born. He’d come to Dean for advice on many occasions, and Dean had had to remind him that he’d proposed to Lisa when they were both blind drunk, at midnight at the turn of the century, which happened to be their fifth year anniversary. Benny had had to tell them what had happened because the details of the evening had been drowned in tequila, so Dean wasn't exactly an expert on marriage proposals.)

“Right!” Dean said louder, cheerier. “Elsie, you wanna say bye to daddy and Cas?”

Elsie nodded vigorously and ran over with a gleeful smile, hugging first Cas, then her father around the knees. “Bye daddy! Bye Cas!”

“Bye sweetie,” he bent down to kiss her, letting go of Cas’s hand. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Be good,” he instructed.

“I’m always good,” she grinned toothily, and Dean snorted as he stood up and took Cas’s hand again.

“Yeah right.”

They arrived at Cas’s apartment at almost half past seven. Cas unlocked the door and he treaded upstairs quietly. Dean occupied himself with writing a note to stick on the door of Biscuits and Books saying that they would be “closed until monday - family emergency – sorry.”

Gabriel always got up at seven thirty. It was seven twenty-five. Now that they’d ruled out telling him at three a.m, it seemed cruel to rob him of his last five minutes of sleep. 

Dean made coffee. Cas rummaged in the freezer for some ice for his hand, and wrapped four cubes in a tea towel. He sat on the sofa, twisting the fabric in his hands and letting the ice drip onto the floor. 

Five minutes was a hell of a long time.


	40. "I've got some bad news."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They break the news to Gabriel and Jennifer calls back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!
> 
> Trigger warnings: alcohol abuse, excessive drinking
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating alcohol abuse.

Gabriel's door opened and Cas jumped. The younger Novak traipsed into the living room, wearing a sleep filled pout and large fluffy socks, one of which was falling off. If he was trailing a blanket or sucking his thumb, Dean would have barely been able to tell the difference between him and Elsie.

He grunted a good morning and continued to the kitchen where Dean pressed a large coffee into his hands and ushered him to the sofa. Cas was curled up on one end, still twisting his tea towel back and forth, letting the ice melt and drip onto the floor. 

"Dean-o? Whatchya doin' here so early?" Gabriel grumbled sleepily, protesting quietly as Dean led him to the sofa. "Shop opens at nine..."

"Not today it doesn't." Cas stared intently at the wet tea towel. His voice was raw. "We've ... urgh ... we've - I've got some bad news."

Gabriel sat down on the other end of the sofa, tucking his feet under him. "’S it about the shop?" He asked, slurping the drink. 

Cas's voice caught in his throat. "No it's - it's about -" he swallowed. "It's about Balthazar." 

Little drops of hot coffee sloshed into Gabriel’s lap and onto the sofa cushions as he shook involuntarily.

“There was some … bombing in Syria. Balthazar was… umm… Balthazar was - he was…” Cas waved his hands, trying to come up with a gentler way to say ‘killed’ or ‘bombed’ or ‘murdered’. He dissolved into a trembling huddle, Dean’s AC/DC t-shirt suddenly swamping him.

Gabriel didn’t need his older brother to finish the sentence. He understood. It was obvious by the way Cas was shaking, his eyes red and wet. It was obvious by the way Dean was rubbing Cas’s shoulders comfortingly; by the bags under both of their eyes; by Cas’s bed hair and tracksuit bottoms that must have been Dean’s because everyone knew Cas lived and breathed skinny jeans. By puddle of melting ice on the floor. By the gut wrenching feeling that his brother was totally, wholly and utterly _gone._

More coffee spilt into his lap, burning his skin through his thin pajama bottoms, striped and a little too grimy for Cas's liking.

“The BBC’re gonna call you in half an hour, to sort out some arrangements for bringing your brother back home, and… stuff,” Dean said tenderly. “Angel, 's your phone charged enough?”

Cas stared at him blankly. Gabriel stood up suddenly and set down his mug of coffee with a clatter. More of it slopped over the sides. He dragged himself over to the kitchen where he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured himself an overly generous glass. Dean bit his lip, but didn’t comment. It wasn’t even eight in the morning, but then again, Dean didn’t really have the moral high ground when it came to lecturing on alcohol. 

Gabriel finished the glass. And the glass after that. He was pouring his third before Dean stopped him and made him sit back on the sofa with his brother. Cas was reading a book. His eyes were glazed and he was reading the same sentence over and over again. His foot tapped impatiently on the damp floor. 

Gabriel stared into space. His face was slack and streaked with tears. He wasn’t afraid to show his grief, as Dean had expected him to be. Or he was too numb to care. 

From somewhere in the pile of coats and scarves they’d left by the door, a phone buzzed loudly in the silence. The three men jumped, and Cas dropped the book on the ground in his haste to find the phone. It turned out to be his cell service, texting him to tell him how much mobile data he had left that month. Cas gulped audibly and set the phone on the coffee table.

He picked up his book again and reread that same sentence. Gabriel stared at the phone. It read 07:45, and the ’46 just managed to sneak in before the screen went dark. 

Gabriel just went on staring. Dean wiped the kitchen surfaces, tinkered around with the terrariums on the windowsill, poured himself some more coffee, anything to hide the fact that he was really, really bad at emotions. His own he just ignored, at least when he could. Cas's he could sort of deal with. They were together, after all. He'd learnt how to deal with Cas's emotions. It was Gabe's that bothered him. Gabriel Novak: he barely knew the guy. Sure, they worked together, lived together, but Gabriel's emotions were off limits to others. He was the sort of happy-go-lucky person who cracked a joke to make someone else feel better, who laughed so much through his own pain that Dean barely registered it's existence, and only Cas could really pick up on it.

The BBC, if anything, was punctual. Cas’s phone vibrated noisily on the coffee table at exactly eight a.m, and Cas dived to answer it. Gabriel sat stony still; staring at the piece of table it had been on. He hadn’t moved a muscle in fifteen minutes.

_”Hello, is this Castiel Novak? It’s Jennifer again."_

"Hi, yes. ’S Castiel.” Cas said quietly, voice level and composed. 

Dean moved quietly to stand by Cas’s side, coffee in hand. He noticed later, as he was finishing the then lukewarm coffee, that he’d made it milky and sweet, not bitter and black. That was what happened, he reasoned, when all that he could think about was Cas.

_”If you remember, we needed to discuss how to get your brother’s body home. His official residence is in London, but we understand that you are his only family, and that you’re based in Kansas?”_

“Yeah… s’just me... and my younger brother, Gabriel,” Cas replied, and Dean noticed how, like him, Cas slurred his words when he was tired. 

_”We can arrange for repatriation: to have him flown back to Kansas tomorrow. Could you give me an address of your funeral home of choice?”_

Cas did. 

_“You will have to organise the funeral yourself, but the BBC does cover the insurance expenses of the international undertakers and all of the paperwork. We’ll ship over all of his possessions from London in the next few weeks. Alternatively, we are happy to pay for you to fly to London to pack up his flat there.”_ She ended each sentence with high intonation, making everything sound like a question.

“I…. ugh… hang on let me ask my brother. Gabriel?”

Gabriel didn’t reply: didn’t seem to even notice that Cas was talking to him. 

_”It’s not my place to decide for you, but if I were you, I’d go to London. Most families find it useful to get closer to their relative, especially, as I understand, you didn’t see Balthazar very often.”_

Cas’s voice was soft. Dean, in some sick and twisted way, kept waiting for it to break. “We didn’t.”

_”And there comes the added bonus of being able to leave some of his possessions there if you decide you won’t have any use for them. We can arrange for one of our lawyers to go through his will with you while you’re there.”_

Here it was. “That sounds... g-good,” Cas whispered, voice cracking. He swallowed thickly.

Gabriel let out a small, mewling sob, too quiet for Jennifer to pick up on. Almost too quiet for Dean and Cas to pick up on. A _will._ No one wanted to go through their dead brother’s will. 

_“We can fly you and your brother to London, all expenses paid, next week, say Monday the eleventh to Friday the fifteenth of November? Does that suit you?”_

Cas nodded, and only uttered a quiet “Yes,” when Dean nudged him, reminding him that it was a phone call. Cas was so used to Skyping with Balthazar, he forgot that Jennifer couldn’t see him. 

It was arranged that Balthazar’s body would be at the morgue ready for burial the next day, and that Jennifer would meet Cas and Gabriel off the plane in London the next week. Cas asked, his voice pleading, for a spare ticket for Dean, and Dean’s eyes grew wide.

 _“I’m very sorry, we can only organise flights for the immediate family,”_ Jennifer apologised, and Dean let out an internal sigh of relief. 

When Cas opened his mouth to ask again, Dean uttered, “No no no no no no no no, it’s okay. You’ll be okay without me Cas. Really. Promise.”

“You don’t want to accompany us?” Cas asked, folding his arms across his chest. 

“No no, I do. Really. But.” Dean searched around for an excuse. “I didn’t know your brother at all, and I would feel weird if-” He saw Cas wasn’t buying it. He looked at the ceiling awkwardly. “I. I really hate flying, okay? Remember?”

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, even though it had only been a few hours, Cas laughed. A genuine giggle escaped his lips. 

Dean blushed and hit Cas affectionately over the head. 

“I take it back: two flights is fine, Jennifer,” he chuckled. “I forgot: my boyfriend is terrified of flying.”

Jennifer laughed politely. _”I don’t blame him. I look forward to meeting you next week.”_

“Me too. Thank you,” Cas returned, still smiling.

Gabriel’s voice was wrecked. “Thank you,” he murmured, still staring into nothingness. Dean wasn't sure if he knew who he was thanking, or why.

Jennifer hung up. Cas cringed at the beep; too long and too loud for the early hour of the morning.

Cas turned to Dean, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. “I forgot. You’re really, really scared of flying aren’t you?” He reached over to kiss him, tasting honey-sweetened coffee. 

“Scared shitless,” Dean kissed him back.


	41. "You don’t love me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit NSFW.
> 
> Trigger warning: drinking, vomiting
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating alcohol abuse.

Dean ordered pizza for lunch. The brief happiness that Cas had felt when he’d remembered Dean’s fear of flying was gone, and his heart ached with every dull thump of blood passing through it. His head hurt thinking about life, and its fragility: its inevitable end. His breathing was loud, as was his heartbeat, and he became very aware of his blinking. He was, unmistakably living. And Balthzar was, unmistakably, dead. 

They organised the funeral in a matter of hours. Then Cas read to take his mind off his growing existential crisis; managing to get beyond one sentence this time. Gabriel went back to bed, not even emerging for the pizza. 

There was so much pizza. Dean didn’t think there was such a thing as too much pizza, but he’d severely misjudged the amount they would eat, and there were two full, untouched boxes in the fridge at the end of lunchtime. (Balthazar had loved pizza. Goats' cheese and red onion had been his favourite.)

Cas drank. Dean didn’t even try to stop him. He checked on Gabriel a couple of time, and found him asleep or crying or drinking in his room. Apparently, Dean wasn’t the only one to stash alcohol under his bed. There was minimal room under Cas’s futon: enough for a small paperback, sometimes even a condom or two, but not the bottle of vodka that Cas was currently working his way through. Even Gabriel’s small bottle of whiskey would’ve had trouble fitting.

They watched Game of Thrones in the evening, and Cas ruined it for Dean by telling him who was about to die at the end of the episode. And the next episode. Dean tried not to get mad. Cas was drunk, after all. Drunk, and grieving. Cas came first. _Don’t be a bitch, Dean._

Cas snuggled up to Dean, kissing his neck and gently licking the piercings on his collarbones. Dean shivered, his eyelids fluttering. He kissed Cas back, tasting stale breath and booze. 

“I love you I love you I love you,” Cas slurred, stroking Dean’s face sloppily and pushing his laptop out of the way, the Game of Thrones theme tune still playing in the background as the episode ended. He straddled Dean, kissing him hard – not forcefully, but not exactly gently either. 

Dean kissed back, trying to keep his upstairs brain focused as Cas rolled his hips and sucked at his neck. He fisted the bedclothes and his eyes rolled back in their sockets, Cas’s breath hot on his chest. 

Cas was properly hard in a couple of minutes, his erection making a defined tent in the tracksuit bottoms he’d borrowed from Dean. He pulled them down roughly and palmed himself through his underwear as Dean watched, gulping and feeling the heat building in his abdomen. 

“I’ve busted m’ hand Dean…” Cas waved his right hand in front of Dean, still rocking into his left. “Aren’t you gon’ help?” His voice was loud: louder than he realised. 

Dean’s thighs burned from Cas sitting on them. He shook his head and shimmied out of Cas’s embrace. “Not now. Not now.” He stood up and padded into the kitchen. 

“Why?” Cas shouted, still on the futon, and Dean flinched. “Why? ‘M I not good enough f’you?”

“Cas. You’re drunk. You’re shouting and you’re smashed as hell,” Dean said weakly, returning to Cas’s bedroom with a glass of water. Cas was naked now, his boxer-briefs and Dean's AC/DC t-shirt slung across the room. He lay on his stomach in the middle of the bed, moaning like a pornstar as he rubbed himself against the bedsheets.

“I don’t wanna, Cas. Not when you’re like this.”

“Like what?" Cas shouted. "‘m not good ‘nough? You don’t love me?” 

Dean held out the water. “That’s not what I said.” Dean’s voice was soft and weirdly high-pitched in comparison. “Stop shouting, please.”

Cas sat up, grabbed the glass and downed in one. He dropped it onto the futon when he was finished and it made a little wet patch on the bed sheets. 

“I love you, Cas, I do. But you’re shit-faced.”

Cas stared at him angrily and resumed stroking himself with his left hand and moaning obnoxiously. Dean struggled to keep a clear head.

“You gotta go to sleep, okay?” Dean’s voice was gentle. “Balthazar’s being flown back here tomorrow, remember? To the funeral home? You gotta be awake for that. For the funeral.” 

Cas froze; mid roll of the hips with his ass in the air. “Oh.” 

Dean watched as his erection, bobbing red and swollen against his stomach, softened quite dramatically. He stood up slowly, swaying on his feet. Dean put out a hand to steady him, unsure of what Cas was about to do.

Stumble to the bathroom and puke up his stomach contents was apparently the answer. Dean followed him cautiously, breathing through his mouth. He sat on his haunches and rubbed circles onto Cas’s back as he retched putrid, brown vomit into the toilet bowl.

The hour of groaning and clutching the toilet dragged by impossibly slowly. The combination of way too much drink and the shock of losing his brother had gotten too much. Between periods of overwhelming nausea and the inevitable throwing up that followed, Cas told Dean about his older brother. 

He is – _was_ – very sarcastic, and acted like he didn’t care about anything at all, but he did, Cas told him. When they were in the home, Balthazar was their anchor. He’d stood up for Cas and Gabriel, often getting in lots of trouble for it. When puberty had hit, Balthazar was there for them, making fun of their squeaking voices and spotty faces and those first three hairs of a moustache before anyone else could. When Cas had come out, Balthazar had kissed him on the cheek and the three of them had celebrated in the middle of the night with communion wine stolen from the kitchens. When Cas had been fostered, Balthazar had visited much more than he was allowed, sneaking out with Gabriel when everyone else was asleep and knocking on Cas’s bedroom window, hiding in the shrubbery so as to not get caught. Once, he even –

Cas shuddered and retched. His lunch hit the porcelain in a slow, sad, trickle.

Many glasses of water and extensive teeth-brushing later, Cas was in bed. He lay huddled under the duvet, his eyes blank and numb. Dean leant over to switch the light off and settled down next to his boyfriend. He hooked one leg over Cas's and rested his head on his left arm while his right bent round so he could stroke Cas's hair and neck and shoulders. Cas's breath smelt of toothpaste and whiskey, with a subtle hint of stomach bile. It was hot and tickled Dean's neck, but wasn’t unpleasant because it was _Cas._. Dean breathed back. Their breaths didn't fall into sync that night: Dean's were deep and long; giving a steady beat to the evening. Cas's irregular and shallow, with the occasional huge shaky one, which left him more out-of-breath than anything else. He tried to copy Dean's steady breathing to calm himself down, but the little sobs that emerged his throat kept his breaths staticky and uneven. 

Dean's traced circles in Cas's hair, tangling the long locks around his fingers and pulling ever so gently. Dean’s mind wandered and he dozed off a couple of times, but his fingers kept moving ever-so-gently in Cas’s hair until long after Cas was asleep; snoring loudly in his intoxicated state. 

It was the snoring that kept Dean awake, and the sofa suddenly became a very attractive place to sleep. But he didn’t move, of course. He stayed curled up to Cas, legs interlocked and arm around his shoulders and breathed in time to Cas’s snores in attempts to block them out. When that didn’t work, he dug around for Cas’s iPod and headphones, which he knew were somewhere on the bedside table. He fell asleep, eventually, somewhere around three a.m, listening to The Tallest Man on Earth and wondering why his heart did a little flip in his chest whenever he thought of Cas.


	42. “Catafalque.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of vomit, grieving.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

The whole apartment smelt of vomit. Dean’s tongue was paper-dry from breathing through his mouth and his hands tingled from whatever bottle of ancient carpet cleaner he’d found in the cupboard under the sink. He manhandled Gabriel into the bathroom and forced him to shower while he cleaned the floor and stripped the younger Novak’s bed for him. At least Cas had made it to the bathroom. 

When they eventually dragged themselves out of their rooms, both Cas and Gabriel found aspirin, toast and two large glasses of iced water waiting for them on the table. Dean had been toying with the idea of cooking them both a bacon sandwich for breakfast, but his cooking could never compare to Gabriel’s, and apparently the myth that fry-ups cured hangovers had been debunked. (Sam had told him that when he’d found him, wet-faced and shaking beside a toilet full of puke, the morning after Lisa’s death. Dean had asked for a greasy breakfast and Sam had presented him with one of his famous fruit smoothies. It was actually good, though Dean had complained to no end.)

Cas demanded coffee in a rough voice. Dean refused on the grounds that coffee would not help the hangovers (something else he’d learnt from Sam that morning), but gave in quite easily when Cas had welled up. Sam’s puppy-eyes had some competition.

Dean made it too milky and too sweet, and Cas began to feel queasy. He sipped from Dean’s cup of bitter black stuff instead, his eyes hooded and hair looking like he’d stuck his fingers in an electric socket. Gabriel took Dean’s advice and avoided the caffeine, sticking to the toast and water. His head already felt like it was imploding: he didn’t need coffee dehydrating him more. His eyes found it difficult to focus, and his head hurt like a bitch, so he decided to change back into pajamas and rest.

The spare bed sheets were in a cupboard by Gabriel’s shower, and Dean made the bed and sprayed the room with air-freshener. He opened the window and aired the room while Gabriel lay on the sofa, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

“Shower?” Cas murmured, later, puppy-eyes turned up to one hundred per cent and head cocked to one side. 

Dean put down the dishes he was washing from yesterday’s pizza and padded over to Cas. He kissed his stubbled cheek and snaked his arm around Cas’s waist. “Of course, angel.” 

“Whipped.” Gabriel muttered from the sofa, not even turning around. 

Dean shrugged, smiling, and followed Cas into the shower. Sure, he was wrapped around Cas’s little finger, but he didn’t mind. Who would?

He washed Cas’s gravity-defying hair gently, massaging the shampoo into his scalp and taking extra care not to get it in his eyes. He hummed Hey Jude over the sound of the water hitting the tiles. Cas made noises that resembled a kitten, and Dean couldn’t tell whether he was crying or enjoying the head massage. 

Shampoo suds rolled down Cas’s neck and shoulders, and Dean mixed them with some scented stuff that Cas had motioned to. There were so many bottles Dean didn’t really know what to do. Cas seemed to have almost ten bottles of shower gel, of all different colours and flavours. Dean was used to the shampoo-body-wash all-in-one deal, which smelt alright; decent but not overwhelming; clean but not _cinnamon scented_ like the gel he was currently lathering over Cas’s back with a sponge. He ran his hands down Cas’s stomach, his legs, his arms, and finished by gently kneading Cas’s shoulders. Cas nuzzled into Dean’s neck, the hot water clinging to his eyelashes. 

They both smelt like a bakery by the time Dean had given himself a quick scrub - a nice change from the puke stench that had followed them all morning. Cas let Dean dress him too, though he picked out the black jeans and the black a-symmetrical sweater himself - Balthazar would’ve hated the formalities of a suit. They found Gabriel had opted for all black too, and it wasn’t a problem that Dean didn’t have a fresh outfit: he wore all black every day. (In high school, when people used to ask him whose funeral he was going to, indicating his black attire, he’d reply, “I haven’t decided yet,” looking around menacingly. Dean smiled fondly, but chose not to share his amusement. It was a bit too soon for funeral-related jokes, he thought.)

The funeral itself was small and short. Gabriel and Cas had wanted a quiet memorial service in the crematorium, nothing fancy or over the top. Some of Balthazar’s work colleagues had flown over from England, following the calls that Cas and Gabriel had made the previous day. Bela Talbot was there, as was Anna Milton, and a kid called Alfie who was sobbing his heart out so much that Dean didn’t catch his last name. 

They stepped into a white-walled room with sunlight streaming from the high windows. The coffin was on a raised platform, decorated with carvings of flowers and angels. Gabriel inhaled sharply.

“Catafalque,” Cas whispered, taking Dean’s hand. He’d been spouting facts all morning. It helped him cope; to know that world still functioned and scientific processes still existed, and life moved on even though Balthazar’s hadn’t. Even though he felt like _his_ hadn’t.

It was a closed coffin. Neither of them had wanted an open casket, and they weren’t even sure how much of Balthazar would be left - apparently the bombing had been heavy. Cas didn’t want to remember his brother as a deformed, limbless corpse, with closed eyes and matted hair, cracked lips and waxen skin.

He wanted to remember the man with the smiling eyes and cackling laugh, with the funny accents, and the pretentious tastes in wine, whiskey, and… women. The v-necked shirts that showed a little too much chest hair, the jazz music, the devil-may-care attitude and the Han Solo references. The Italian and French idioms that slipped their way into his English. The ceaseless innuendos. His unwavering hatred for Céline Dion. 

There weren’t any speeches. Balthazar would’ve hated them. There were no prayers either: they weren’t religious and the children’s home had made the eldest Novak quite forcefully atheist. The others said a few words each, directing their eyes to the wooden coffin, patting in gently – awkwardly even – as they murmured their last goodbyes. Even Alfie managed to stop crying enough to get a couple of sentences out. 

Cas and Dean left the room to give Gabriel some space to say goodbye. They heard his muffled voice, forcefully happy, through the closed door. The cheerful act didn’t crack until he emerged a full half an hour later, face falling and eyes glazing over. He downed four glasses of water and left the building to roam the memorial gardens.

Dean caressed Cas’s face, kissed his forehead and whispered, “I’ll be right out here.”

When Cas didn’t move, Dean opened the door for him, and gave him a gentle nudge inside. “Go on. Say goodbye. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“He’s already gone. There’s no logical point to a retrospective goodbye,” Cas muttered, but he shuffled inside anyway, closing the door behind him.

And suddenly, the words wouldn’t come. The tears didn’t come either. He sat down heavily on the floor for God knows how long, but when he could finally bring himself to move, his found his legs were numb, so he stayed where he was. He wished everything could be numbed so easily. 

And he didn’t know what to say. He knew that he knew _what_ to say: Balthazar had been a loving brother, and that he would miss him - those clichéd words that his brother would have cringed at. And they were true, of course, but Cas didn’t know _how_ to say it. Or how to even think it. He knew he had an extensive vocabulary that stretched and wound and tangled itself into many languages, much like Balthazar's had. He knew he’d read hundreds of books, memorised countless sections of dictionaries, could recite poetry, passages and pages by heart, and all of it – all of that knowledge swirling around in his brain was useless in telling his mouth what to do. He couldn't find the correct string of words to tell his brother how much he had meant to him, how much he had loved him. How much he still did. He didn't know how. 

He ended up thinking how the majority of books in Biscuits and Books were just rearrangements of the same twenty-six letters with some punctuation thrown in, and how everything he said was just his vocal chords vibrating in certain ways, and resulting in the compression and rarefaction of air particles, which other humans could interpret as words.

His thoughts led him to the words ‘beautiful’, ‘symbolic’ and ‘a celebration of life’. Those over-used descriptors. Balthazar’s funeral was none of those things. It was painful, quiet and surreal. Cas wasn’t sure how long it took before Dean came in and sat with him on the floor, but once Dean was there, Cas realised that funerals were also snotty, blurry and very very wet. 

They left before the actual cremation process started, but they weren’t allowed to watch anyway, so there seemed little point in staying. The coffin was wheeled into a room at the back, and they were told that the whole procedure would take about forty minutes, and the ashes would be ready to be picked up the next day. Gabriel and Alfie stayed chatting in the gardens. Apparently the kid was an intern, and Balthazar had thought he was very cute. They’d gotten along well, Alfie had said. Been close, Alfie had said.

Balthazar had never mentioned Alfie. Not once, Cas thought, as he lay in bed with Dean. His hands curled into fists, rumpling Dean’s t-shirt, which smelt of sweat and just a hint of cinnamon. Cas could see the threads coming loose around the collar as he buried his face in Dean’s neck. He didn’t cry. He was done crying. He couldn’t quite seem to make the tears come, so he’d stopped trying. 

“Adrenaline,” Cas explained, after Dean held him tighter in attempts to stop him shaking. “Common symptom of grief. Emotional trauma.”

And Dean just smiled briefly, sadly, holding him tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catalfaque: a temporary raised platform on which a body lies during a funeral.


	43. "Skype when you find his sex toy collection.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Gabriel fly to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Friends reference. I don't own Friends or Supernatural.

Whenever Cas thought of his brother, he felt a sharp tug in his chest. The first time it had happened he thought he was having a mini heart attack. Then he got used to it. There were no more tears. Crying was wet and messy and inconvenient, so Cas had stopped. Besides, Gabriel was crying for the both of them. 

Cas’s head was a dull thud of headaches and hangovers, and his sleep schedule was messed up to no end. Maybe, he thought weakly as he leant against his suitcase in the airport, the six-hour time difference would straighten things out. Probably not.

He nuzzled his head into the crook of Dean's neck, waiting for the check-in line to shuffle forward. The whole place smelt of jet fuel and air conditioning, under too-bright lights and frequent loudspeaker notices to "never leave your bags unattended." He could feel Dean's heart beating rapidly through his black sweater and leather jacket. The poor guy was the most nervous of the three of them, and he wasn't even flying.

From behind them, Gabriel murmured something about getting coffee. It was five in the morning after all. 

"Hazelnut latte."

Gabriel smiled at his older brother. "I know." 

"Decaf, black, please," Dean replied, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. _God that was embarrassing_. He didn't need caffeine making him more nervous.

"Got it." Gabriel said. He wandered off, nodding his head in time to the music that he had blaring through one, neon pink earphone. 

Checking in the bags was relatively simple, actually. There were no forgotten passports, no last minute realisations that they’d neglected to pack any clothes; Gabriel even managed to refrain from making bomb-related jokes. At security, they handed over their boarding passes, and when Dean tried to follow, a burley security guard stopped him.

“Sir, you flyin’?” He was Texan; all deep voice and muscle.

Dean cracked a shaky grin. “God, no.”

“Then you’re gonna have to say goodbye. It’s passengers only from here.” His tree-trunk thick arms were still spread, barring Dean’s way.

Cas swallowed hard, and Dean nodded, his eyes slightly too wide. “M’kay.” 

He pulled Cas to one side and kissed him, chaste and sweet. “Call me when you land.”

“I will,” Cas murmured into Dean’s neck. His face was often buried in Dean's neck, these days. It was warm and comforting, and blocked out the lights that were too bright for his hangover-riddled brain. Besides, he always got a hug out of it, and a couple of moments to compose himself; to force down those burning tears that seemed to always be bubbling beneath the surface.

“Call me anytime. Text me what you have for breakfast. Tell me what colour the hotel bedsheets are. Skype when you find his sex toy collection.” 

Cas chuckled. “You going to miss me then?”

“Ehh… a little. I’ll survive,” Dean kissed him again. Less chastely, this time; more tongue. 

Cas wrapped one hand around his suitcase handle; one around Dean’s waist, and Dean hugged him back.

“C’mon, lovebirds! You’ll miss the plane, Cas!” Gabriel yelled half-heartedly. He already seemed to be halfway through security.

“Check the left phalange is working,” Dean called as Cas joined the long line of yawning travellers. 

Cas smiled at the _Friends_ reference. “I don’t there is a left phalange.”

Dean feigned shock. “Oh God! No left phalange? Is there even a right phalange? I don't think you should get on this plane, dude.”

“I love you,” he swallowed thickly, tightening his grip on the suitcase as he was forced to keep walking by the pushy family behind him. 

Dean was getting further and further away, the grey airport walls and crowds of people swallowing him up. “I love you too.” 

Cas was being swept along by throngs of people waiting to get through security. He had to raise his voice uncomfortably loudly to get Dean to hear. “Give Elsie a hug for me.” A couple of people looked up, Cas voice plucking them out of their sleepy haze and desire to get to the duty-free shopping and overpriced coffee at the other end of security. 

Dean nodded. He said something, probably, “I love you”, but Cas was now too far away to hear. He waved, swallowed thickly and turned the corner, finding Gabriel holding yet another cup of coffee and a pastry. 

“Took you long enough,” he said, mouth full of crumbs. Cas could hear the tinny beat of his music playing through the earphones. “Want some?” he offered Cas the pastry. 

“What… is it?” Cas asked cautiously, taking the paper bag from Gabriel’s hands. It crinkled loudly. 

“I think it’s meant to be a _pain au raisin_ , but the pastry’s too dry, the _crème anglais_ is too eggy and it’s too sweet and sticky to be really authentic.”

“Way to sell it,” Cas snorted, but he shrugged and took a bite. It tasted fine to him. He finished it while Gabriel scoped out the dull array of travel-related items on sale. 

Cas found his way to the book section of one of the stores, and browsed the aisles until their flight was announced. He checked his phone constantly for any calls or texts from Dean, and was feeling a little put out at the lack of contact until he realised Dean was driving. Dean, while not very particular about car safety, was not stupid enough to text and drive, especially with such little sleep and high nerves.

The plane was too cold, as usual, and smelt of stale air and kerosene. Gabriel settled down to watch _Dr Sexy_ for the thousandth time, and Cas read. Somewhere after the pit stop in Chicago, Cas managed to fall asleep to the whirring of the engines and the irritating cough of the woman behind him. 

They landed at London Heathrow at eleven p.m, and followed the dazed line of people to baggage reclaim. Cas called Dean while Gabriel picked up the bags. 

_”Hey, angel.”_

“Dean. Hi. Hey.”

 _”Didn’t crash land then? No problems with the phalanges?”_ Cas could hear the smile in his voice. 

“No, none.”

Then he heard a giggle, a gruff yell from Dean, and suddenly Elsie was on the line. _”CAS! HI CAS!”_

“Hey... Hey sweetie. How are you?”

 _”I’M GREAT! I just had a sleepover at Auntie Jess’s and Uncle Sam’s’s house! And we watched_ Frozen _and had spa- ‘paghetti and meatballs and then daddy came really really really really really early in the morning and Uncle Sam was grumpy because he was ‘sleep but I was already – I was already awake ‘cause I waked up early and daddy slept for aaaages but now he’s okay and now we’re – now we’re eating the ice-cream.” ___

__“That sounds fantastic,” Cas grinned, scanning the room for Gabriel._ _

_”Hhmmrff Els’ you’re on m’ face,_ ” came Dean’s muffled voice. There was the sound of them shifting position and a couple of _“Ow”_ s from Dean. Cas laughed. 

_”Shhtop laughin’ Cas! Elsie ge'roff m' face you li'l monster!”_

_”OKAY BYE CAS BYE BYE I’M GOING TO PLAY WITH AUNTIE JESS BYEEEE!_

“Bye gorgeous,” Cas practically sung. “Talk to you soon.” 

_”How was the flight?”_ Dean asked. 

“Pretty boring actually. I slept through most of it. I sort of wished you were there to liven things up a bit.” 

Dean cackled nervously. _”You don’t mean that. You should see me on a plane. I freak out: I mean totally, completely freak out.”_

“Exactly, I _should_ see you on a plane.” 

_“No. Never. Never ever ever.”_

“Never ever _ever?”_

_”Shut up!”_ Dean laughed. _”I’m sweating just thinking about it._ ” 

Cas chuckled gruffly. “You’re cute. I miss you. What time’s it at home again?” 

_”Four ish. London?"_

“Just past eleven, I think. Oh here’s Gabriel with the bags. Gotta go love you I'll text you," he gabbled as his younger brother wheeled the two suitcases up towards him. He took one and they headed to meet Jennifer at the taxi ranks. Most of them were not iconic London black taxicab – apparently they were too far outside the centre of town for those. 

____Jennifer was a pretty woman with long blond hair and a dazzlingly white smile, and she caught Gabriel’s attention pretty quickly. They got talking in the taxi (a Toyota something-or-other) to their hotel; flirting even, so Cas took out his iPod and drowned out their conversation with music. Dean’s music. He let Dean’s voice and the sound of The Hunters wash over him for a good hour and a bit before the taxi pulled up outside the hotel._ _ _ _

____“So, you’re all set for tomorrow then?” She asked as she helped them haul their bags out of the taxi. Cas yanked out the earphones, confused, and Gabriel nodded._ _ _ _

____“Here’re the keys to his flat, and the address. It’s just up the road here.” She handed Gabriel an envelope. “I’ll organise one of our lawyers to call you so they can take you through Balthazar’s will.”_ _ _ _

____Gabriel smiled. “Thank you. Will we be seeing you again?”_ _ _ _

____Jennifer shrugged. “If you want to,” she replied nonchalantly, though Cas could her cheeks tinge with blush under the street lamp. She rummaged in her handbag for her business card, and scrawled something on the back. “Personal number,” she explained._ _ _ _

____“Well, thank you,” he winked. “Thought I’d have to ask my brother for your work cell. That would’ve been awkward.”_ _ _ _

____Cas cleared his throat from behind them, wavering in the reception doorway._ _ _ _

____“Aren’t you going to give me yours?” She asked._ _ _ _

____“Can’t trust me to call you?” Gabriel laughed, nudging her with his shoulder._ _ _ _

____“Not particularly,” she deadpanned._ _ _ _

____Gabriel gasped in mock horror. “I’m offended! Give me a bit of paper!”_ _ _ _

____She giggled and pulled out a Tesco’s receipt. “Here.”_ _ _ _

____“Not good enough for a fancy card either?” He complained as he wrote his number on the reverse. "What's Tesco?"_ _ _ _

____"It's like your Walmart, only better." She took the piece of paper from him. “See you soon, then, Gabriel.”_ _ _ _

____“I hope so.” He took his bags and joined his brother in the doorway._ _ _ _

____Jennifer got back into the taxi and waved through the window as it left, driving on the left side of the road._ _ _ _

____In the elevator – 'lift' – up to their rooms, Gabriel asked if it was bad to pick up a girl on a trip to sort out their dead brother’s possessions._ _ _ _

____Cas made a non-descript noise. “It’s not really my style. Balthazar would have done exactly the same thing though, so I’m sure he’d be proud.”_ _ _ _

____Gabriel thrust his hips into his suitcase suggestively. “I bet he would be.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh God… please tell me we’re not sharing a room.”_ _ _ _

____Gabriel waved the two electronic cards in front of his face. “No, dummy. Two keys. I can crash in peace while you call Dean and gush about your love for each other all night.”_ _ _ _

____“Thank fuck,” Cas sighed._ _ _ _


	44. Alfie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Gabriel sort through Balthazar's things.

Gabriel slept. He had thoroughly worn himself out from his twelve hour _Dr Sexy_ marathon on the plane, and snored through the night. He woke at seven a.m. British time, feeling only a little jet lagged. Cas on the other hand, had slept through most of the plane journey to catch up on the lack of sleep following the funeral. He Skyped Dean and they talked until Cas fell asleep at five a.m; eleven p.m. Kansas time. When he woke, Gabriel had already eaten breakfast and was watching more _Dr Sexy_. He’d brought the DVD box set from home and apparently the hotel’s TV was able to play such “utter crap” as Cas called it - though not in front of Dean. 

He’d missed the hotel's breakfast, so he and Gabriel scoped out London’s hipster paradise: Brick Lane, for a coffee shop. They found one tucked away between a vintage leather jacket store and a shop dedicated entirely to scarves, and enjoyed several hot cups with the late morning sun streaming through the windows. Unlike his little brother, Cas was utterly and completely jet lagged, and slouched around in a large coat and his tousled bedhead, looking completely at home among the second hand bookshops and the vinyl trade stands. 

They eventually made their way to Balthazar’s flat, and Cas found he wasn’t the only Novak to fit in with East London’s hipster trends. The flat was small but airy. The living room was dominated by a brown, worn, leather sofa, next to a stack of travel guides and phrasebooks that seemed to have served as Balthazar’s coffee table. A small TV was propped up on a couple of old wine boxes, and the shelves were lined with books and souvenirs from around the world. Cas gravitated towards the bookshelves and immersed himself, while Gabriel wandered around aimlessly, choking a little when he found an old picture of the three of them on the mantelpiece. And another one on Balthazar’s bedside table. And another stuck to the fridge: the few happy memories from the home and memos from their time in Vegas before Balthazar started travelling across the states. Pictures of birthdays and Christmases. Pictures of graduations. Pictures of when Balthazar would return after a long job away and they’d get drunk and gamble. Gabriel would bring home winnings almost every time: the kid was great at catching cards. Balthazar had been great hustling pool. Cas used to sit to one side and make sure they had enough money to eat and pay the rent.

Under a calendar and dry-cleaning receipts stuck to the fridge, Gabriel came across some more photos. They were taken in a photo booth, and it was a series of four pictures with his brother and a young man with blond hair who couldn't have been more than twenty-five. They were kissing in one. The next, the younger man was kissing Balthazar's cheek. In the third, they were grinning; smiles frozen in time. In the last they were pulling faces at the camera, and someone had drawn little devil horns, moustaches and long eyelashes in biro over the shiny paper. Gabriel turned the pictures over to find Balthazar's recognisable curly hand: _"Me and Alfie, June 1st 2012."_ In another hand, in another colour pen, someone had written underneath, _"I love you."_ Balthazar had replied, later and in a different pen, _"You sap. I love you too."_

Suddenly it clicked. Gabriel remembered Alfie from the funeral. The Alfie who had cried his heart out and told everyone that he and Balthazar had been very close. Very _very_ close.

Balthazar had never said anything about Alfie.

Balthazar had never said that he was gay, or bisexual. He hadn't come out to his brothers.

Gabriel showed Cas. Cas didn't know why Balthazar had never mentioned it: it wasn't as if his younger brothers wouldn't have accepted him. Cas wondered if it had eaten Balthazar up inside, if he'd thought about it every night with a pounding head and a churning stomach, telling himself, 'tomorrow, I'll come out tomorrow.' He thought of Bela and the Skype call back in July. Then he felt guilty for intruding on a part of their older brother's life that he'd wanted to keep a secret, and they hid the photos back under the sheets of paper on the fridge.

Later, Gabriel found a box of postcards sent from him and Cas. Balthazar would send them a postcard every time he visited a new place and they would always reply in postcards, even though they had only moved once after the children's home: from Vegas to Lawrence. Balthazar had kept every single one of them. All the _"Happy Birthday"_ s. Every scrawled, _“I’m at the grocery store picking up eggs (again) because Gabriel is making cakes, again. He uses eggs faster than chickens can lay them. Anyway, I’m thinking of you. I hope Seattle is enjoyable. Castiel. ”_

Every, _“God B, why are you in fucking Miami? Cas is driving me mental. There’s more books in the apartment than air to breathe. How many books does a guy need???!! Fucking nerd! :( Please tell me I can move out when I graduate I can’t stand it now you’re gone. G.”_

Cas and Gabriel leafed through near on ten years worth of postcards. Each was different, they'd made sure of that. Gabriel was pretty sure they'd bought all the postcards that existed in Vegas and Lawrence. There were stacks and stacks and stacks of them, and they laughed maybe a little too forcefully at the memories. 

And it was happy. Almost happy. As close as you could get to happy while sifting through your dead brother’s things. Happy, until Cas had found a map pinned to the inside of Balthazar’s closet. On it, he’d circled every place he had been, and put a little yellow sticker over the places he’d like to go. And God, more than half the map was yellow. Yellow dots overlapping, spilling out into the oceans, tumbling into unexplored jungle and unchartered desert. 

Gabriel found Cas weeping on the floor. Balthazar had just turned thirty-two. 

“J-Jesus…” Cas whimpered, clinging onto his brother. “I didn’t k-know how hard this was going to be. I wasn’t fucking ready for this… He wasn’t fucking ready…” 

And Gabriel just sobbed into his shoulder. 

They made it off the floor, somehow, and Cas did indeed Skype Dean when they found Balthazar’s impressive sex toy collection. Dean seemed more worried about Cas’s red-rimmed eyes than interested in anything else, so he made Cas sit down and talk. Cas lay on Balthazar’s bed, the half-yellow map in the cupboard still visible. He pressed his face into the pillows and breathed in slowly, trying to smooth out the hiccup-y sobs that kept escaping his lips. The bedclothes smelt of fresh laundry, but there was no real scent. Who knows how long it had been since Balthazar had slept here. The longer he focused on it, the more he convinced himself that the sheets still held the salty-sweet, tobacco, whiskey and fancy European cologne stink of his brother. He concentrated on that, and the sound of Dean’s steady breathing through his cell phone, to calm him down. 

The fridge mostly empty, but Gabriel busied himself clearing out the ancient jars of ‘Strawberry Jam’ and a couple of old carrots while Cas talked to Dean. They were still talking, while he chucked out old cereal boxes, half-empty packets of rice, a practically prehistoric tin of lentil soup… The tidying calmed him down. It was rhythmic, and there was something that cleansed the mind when cleansing a room. He cooked them a simple pasta and pesto sauce for lunch, wishing he had some pine nuts, Parmesan and fresh basil to garnish. 

He didn’t, obviously. It looked like Balthazar hadn’t been home in weeks, and the kitchen was practically empty. It took Gabriel less than half an hour to clean out before he started on the bathroom, throwing out deodorants and nearly-empty bottles of shampoo and shower gel. He found a bottle of Balthazar's cologne and sniffed it, putting his watery eyes down to the strong smell and not the memories that hit him like a ton of bricks. It was as though Balthazar was in the room with him, watching, joking, laughing. At least it _smelt_ he was there.

After lunch, they started sorting things into piles of ‘keep’, ‘chuck’ and ‘charity’. The souvenirs, books and clothes all went into ‘keep’ piles, as did the bottle of cologne because Cas never wanted to forget the smell of that old jumper he used to hug at night when he'd been fostered aged fourteen. He never wanted to forget the smell when he’d hug his older brother at the airport after he’d returned from a job abroad; the smell of their one bedroom Vegas apartment; the smell of safety and love and _family_. (Gabriel wanted to chuck it. He said it smelt too strong, and that he was probably allergic because his eyes were all red.) The furniture and kitchen utensils went into the charity pile, because there was no way it would’ve all fitted in their apartment back home. 

It took them two days to sort through his things, then another to box them and organise to have them flown back to Kansas, and another day sleeping in the hotel and browsing the vintage shops in Brick Lane to recover. Going through the will was more painful than they’d expected it to be, but then, they hadn’t really known what to expect. Gabriel wasn’t even aware Balthazar had _written_ a will. (Cas knew. Balthazar had called him one time, tipsy and teary-eyed, worried about the dangers of his new job, and what might happen. Balthazar had always called Cas when he had a serious problem. Cas was the ‘sensible’ one.) It wasn’t complicated, though. Balthazar had left everything to them, so there was just a bit of, “tick that box there,” and, “sign here, sir,” before they were done. 

And sitting on the sofa in Balthazar’s half-empty flat, surrounded by boxes and bubble-wrap, Cas and Gabriel drank. They drank and they watched French films with the subtitles off, making up the dialogue like Cas and Balthazar used to do when they were younger. Gabriel found an old pack of cards and they re-created their Vegas days by playing poker and Gabriel amusing his older brother with card tricks. They ordered in pizza and played jazz music loudly on Balthazar’s record player, dancing around drunkenly and singing at the top of their voices until the downstairs neighbour came and knocked angrily on the door. Somewhere in the middle of the night, they found themselves curled up together on Balthazar’s bed, cold and uncomfortable without any of the bedding. They weren’t asleep, but weren’t exactly awake either. They just… existed. Existed, as Balthazar no longer did, in a drunken, grieving haze. 


	45. “Are you cheating on me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Gabriel arrive back in Lawrence, Thanksgiving approaches, and Dean is burdened with a secret.

Dean and Elsie met them at the airport on their return home to Kansas. Dean was carrying Elsie on one hip, helping her hold up a very glittery sign which said _”CAS AND GABE”_. As the Novak brothers emerged from baggage reclaim and trundled around the corner, they were met with cries of, “Daddy, daddy LOOK! Cas and Gabe! Cas and Gabe!” Elsie ran towards them, tackling Cas around the legs until he dropped his suitcase and picked her up, blowing raspberries onto her stomach. 

“I missed you,” he beamed, noticing the glitter that clung to her chubby fingers and had managed to sparkle its way into her hair. 

She held out her arms and demanded a hug from Gabriel, who tickled her until she could barely breathe and then pulled a chocolate coin out of her ear. She gasped in delight. 

Cas turned to Dean, who looked rather comical holding a pink, glittery sign in his studded leather jacket and black ripped jeans, through which the tattoos on his legs were visible. They kissed, slow and sweet, and the people around them started to stare. 

Dean's words tumbled into each other. “Loveyou.”

“I love you too.”

His hand found it’s way into Cas’s dishevelled hair. “We’re totally _that_ couple now aren’t we?” He laughed into Cas’s lips.

Cas took a second to reply, sucking gently on Dean’s lip piercing. “Which couple?”

“The gross kind,” Dean replied a little breathlessly. "The kind that kiss and declare their undying love for each other at airports.” 

Cas laughed. “Yes. We are.”

“How was it?” He asked softly, making sure Elsie was still occupied with the magic tricks that Gabriel had been perfecting on the flight back.

“Sad,” Cas whispered. “I’m glad to be home.” He leant into the strong arm that Dean draped around him. “I’m okay,” he reassured in response to the worried look Dean was giving him.

“I know you are,” Dean replied, but he kept his arm around Cas’s shoulder as they walked towards the car park. “I’m happy you’re back too. I was having heart palpitations as soon as you got on the plane,” he chuckled.

Cas smiled. “I bet you were.”

In the car on the way back home, Gabriel commented, "Thanksgiving’s soon. The twenty eighth." He scrolled through the calendar on his phone "Have any plans?”

“We usually go to my brother’s,” Dean said from the steering wheel, his mind washing with nostalgic memories of the holidays spent with Sam and Jess. His heart did a funny jump in his chest when he thought of those idyllic celebrations at Lisa’s parents' place too. “You’re both invited of course, if you wanna come.”

“We mostly don’t do much. Sometimes go to Michael’s though,” Gabriel mused, “But I’d really like to cook a proper meal: have a Turkey, pies, casseroles… the whole lot. So, I was thinking…” he paused dramatically, "What if we have it at ours?”

Cas cleared his throat. “That would be nice. We haven’t done that in so long.” A tired smile played on his lips at the idea. Thanksgiving had been a gloomy holiday in the home, but after they’d moved to Vegas they’d had a proper celebration every year. It was Kali that had put a stop to it all. She hadn’t seen the point of Thanksgiving, and Gabriel had gone along with her. Cas, being single at the time and eager not to third wheel had often opted for a microwave-meal-for-one.

Dean took his eyes off the road. “That’s an awesome idea! Isn’t that an awesome idea, Elsie?”

“Awesome, daddy,” she echoed, clapping her glittery hands together from the back seat next to Gabriel.

They were quiet for the rest of the car journey, save for Gabriel muttering to himself quietly about sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie recipes. Elsie declared she was going to make the decorations, having been completely enthralled by making the ‘Cas and Gabe’ sign. Dean mentally prepared himself for the glitter, trying to copy his daughter’s enthusiasm. Cas fell asleep against the passenger seat window, snoring softly, and Dean was suddenly reminded of a time when he and Sam would slide around on the back seats, wriggling to get comfortable under the blankets as their dad drove continually into the night. Where had the time gone?

It did get easier. Every day without Balthazar hurt a little less. The pain would never really go away. They would just learn how to live with it, how to fit life around it like some kind of complicated jigsaw puzzle. When they weren’t working, Gabriel busied himself with the Thanksgiving preparations and Cas with integrating their older brother’s belongings into their own. Cas spent his free time enlarging the travel section in Biscuits and Books, reading, and helping Elsie make some decorations for Thanksgiving, which neither Dean nor Gabriel were allowed to see until the day. 

Dean spent quite a lot of his time… out. He would disappear after he put Elsie to bed and come back hours later. It was band practice once. Meeting an old friend. Giving Bobby a hand in the garage. Helping a seven months pregnant Jess when Sam was working late at the office.

One evening, Cas came to meet him as he pulled up outside Biscuits and Books. He had a mug of tea in one hand, and was wearing a sweater that Dean recognised as Balthazar’s. The beanie on his head was lopsided, making him look forlorn, like a lost puppy.

“Hey,” Dean grinned, turning off the ignition. He opened the door and gave Cas a quick, one-armed hug.

“Hey,” Cas returned the smile. “Where did you go again?” 

“Bradbury’s. Gotta finish my theory hours. I’ve done almost all of them now,” he said proudly.

Cas sipped his tea. “Oh. Well done.”

“Can we go inside?” Dean asked. “I’m tired.” And he was. Cas could hear a hint of the Texan twang in his voice that came back when he hadn’t had enough sleep.

The door was barred by Cas. “Of course,” he said, but didn’t move aside. 

Dean moved closer, capturing Cas in a quick kiss that was carefully positioned around the cup of tea. “What are we waiting for then?” He took the tea from Cas and sipped the steaming drink. Ginger. 

“Are you cheating on me?” 

Dean stumbled a little, hot tea spilling onto his arm. “Fuck,” he whispered, hissing and shaking his arm. “What?” He put the mug hurriedly onto the hood of the Impala. “Am I cheatin' on you? God no. Cas, dammit, I love you.”

Cas’s lips twitched. “Where did you go, really?” He asked quietly. A car drove past; all bright headlights and an engine that was too loud, too keen to show off. 

“Bradbury’s. I’m serious.” Dean scrubbed at his face. “I wouldn’t cheat on you, angel. Jesus," he uttered more quietly, "I can’t believe you’d think I’d cheat on you. I love you, Cas."

“I know.” He picked up the mug of tea, now almost empty. “I was only checking, okay?” He mumbled into the porcelain as he downed the rest of the liquid. “Come on. Elsie’s asleep. Gabriel’s out.”

“So?” Asked Dean.

“So… I want to fuck you stupid," he deadpanned.

“Oh.” Dean sounded surprised. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

The bookshop smelt of the mini pumpkin pies Gabriel had been baking for the customers. Earlier, they’d swapped the smoothies and sandwiches out for pies and soups; hot molten cakes replaced the homemade ice creams, and the whole shop felt like autumn. They’d added blankets to the beanbags and old armchairs in the corners, and the deep reds and oranges added to the festive spirit. A garland of orange, yellow, red and gold leaves adorned the front desk.

“’S tidy in here,” Dean commented as they walked through the bookshop to reach the stairs which led to their apartment. “I’m lovin’ the décor.”

“Well, you weren’t here. I had time to kill,” explained Cas as he padded up the stairs.

Dean instantly felt guilty again. “Sorry,” he murmured. He hated lying to Cas. Truth was, he’d finished his theory hours a couple of weeks ago. 

The apartment smelt of the oatmeal cookies and sweet potato pie that Gabriel had been preparing for the Thanksgiving meal that was in two days. Cas had hung up some Christmas lights, and the floor sparkled with a gold glitter that Dean knew he’d find all over Elsie in the morning. And somehow, with Cas’s lips against his, and his jeans growing just that side of too tight, Dean didn’t mind the glitter any more.


	46. "Everybody knows that Batman can't fly.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the dialogue about Sam and Dean dressing up as superheroes was partly copied from the dialogue in episode 15 of season 9 (#THINMAN) from Supernatural. I don't own Supernatural.
> 
> We don't do Thanksgiving where I'm from, so I hope I got all the details right!

Thanksgiving was almost upon them. On Wednesday, Dean skipped band practice to help in Biscuits and Books as Gabriel was working flat out preparing the food for the celebrations the next day; washing and chopping all of the vegetables and setting them to rest in the fridge, squeezed around the turkey and bottles of cider, all while serving customers slices of his famous apple pie from the café counter. (Dean snuck a slice while Gabriel’s back was turned.)

Gabriel moved seamlessly between the kitchen in the apartment and the one in the shop, stirring a pan of cranberry sauce here, seasoning the bowls of stuffing there. Cas and Dean marvelled at how calm he was. Everything was done on time. Nothing was burnt. Nothing forgotten. Nothing underdone. The youngest Novak practically danced around the kitchens, grinning while grinding pepper onto the sweet potatoes, humming to himself while rolling out pastry for a pecan pie. 

“What?” He asked, looking up to find both Cas and Dean staring at him fondly. 

Cas smirked, shrugged, and turned to help an English student find some reference books for an essay she was writing. There was no telling how long he’d spend talking to her eagerly about the significance of what’s-his-name or his favourite part in whatever book they were practically drooling over. Dean left them to it, focusing back on Gabriel, who was plaiting pastry for the top of a pie and singing to himself softly. 

“Quit looking at me like that, Dean-o,” Gabriel said in a singsong voice so similar to the tune of the song that Dean almost missed it. His eyes didn’t leave the pastry. 

Dean turned away. “Sorry. You just look… happy. ‘S nice to see you happy, you know?”

Gabriel smiled. “Yeah well… Gotta drown my sorrows somehow, I guess,” he joked. “Besides, this is exciting! I’ve never done this before, like properly, in a proper kitchen, for more people than just me and Cas, a-and Balt. It’s fun.”

“I bet it is. And hey Gabe, if you need any help…” Dean offered. 

Gabriel opened one of the many oven doors and received a face full of steam. His response was as short and sweet as the leaf shaped cookies Dean was eyeing on the counter. "I got it. Thanks.”

“It’s best not to disturb him,” Cas explained later, after Dean had yet again attempted to help. 

“But I feel kinda bad, letting him do all the work,” Dean moped, flopping down on the sofa next to Cas and stealing a sip of his raspberry tea. He wrapped his legs around the other man and pulled a blanket over them. 

Cas shrugged. “He gets protective about his cooking. He’ll ask for help if he needs it.”

Dean’s, “Okay,” was followed by a loud slurp of the tea, and he resigned to curling up under the blanket while Cas read ‘A Game of Thrones’ out loud. His eyes, unfocused, stared at the ceiling where the lights draped through the rafters twinkled festively. 

However, when Gabriel finally took a break and sat down heavily at the kitchen table with a beer in his hands, Dean seized the opportunity to help. He cleaned the kitchen, washing dirty dishes and pans and making them a quick dinner, something Gabriel had completely forgotten to do. By the time the food was on the table, Gabriel was half asleep. 

“’S good, Dean-o,” he mumbled, gesturing to his bowl of rice and fried tuna fish. 

Dean’s cracked a wide, proud smile. “Thanks Gabe. Nothin’ on you though.”

Gabriel’s mouth attempted a smile but it appeared he was too tired to make his mouth do more than just twitch. He slumped off to bed just after nine o’clock, and Cas and Dean followed suit a couple of hours later.

Dean woke to the mouth-watering smell of vegetables cooking and turkey roasting. He could hear Gabriel moving around the kitchen, putting things in the oven, chopping and stirring and whisking. Elsie wasn’t on the mattress they’d bought her a couple of weeks ago to replace the beanbag so she’d be more comfortable, but Dean could hear her chatting away to Gabriel over the sounds of the cooking.

He draped his arms over Cas and wrapped his legs around the other man’s, pressing little kisses to the nape of his neck. Cas’s eyelids fluttered and he sighed happily.

“Mornin’,” Dean whispered between the kisses that had now graduated to Cas’s lips. 

“S’fuckin’ early, Dean. Middle of th’ night,” came the reply, thick with sleep, and Dean chuckled. 

He kissed Cas’s nose, which Cas promptly scrunched up. “You’re adorable,” Dean laughed.

“Shut th’ fuck up,” Cas murmured lovingly, returning a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek before rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. Dean waited until he could hear Cas snoring softly again before getting up, so as not to wake him. 

Yells of excitement and horror greeted him as he entered the open plan living room. “Daddy daddy daddy don’t look!” Elsie cried, using her small body to shield her glittery masterpiece. 

Dean clamped a hand over his eyes. “Not looking! Not lookin! I promise!” He felt his way blindly past the sofas to the kitchen-dining room and sat down heavily on a chair, facing away from his daughter. 

“You’re up early,” Gabriel commented, washing his hands and pouring Dean a large cup of black coffee. 

Dean accepted it gratefully and took a large gulp. “Yeah well, smells good. Besides your brother is a snorer and one hell of a grumpy asshole in the morning.”

Gabriel laughed. “You’re not wrong.”

“Can I help?” Dean asked, expecting Gabriel to refuse like he's done repeatedly the day before.

“Actually… yeah.” Gabriel replied, and Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “I need you to run to the grocery store for me,” he ordered. “Get some maple syrup, more butter – unsalted - muscovado sugar – the extra dark kind – and pick some rosemary and sage from Cas’s terrariums over there? While you’re at it grab some more beers, and I think we’re all out of coffee so you should get some before Sleeping Beauty wakes up. And-”

“Woah woah, slow down. Musca – what? And let me get dressed first,” Dean protested, though he grinned at Gabriel’s sudden willingness to let him help. 

“Muscovado,” Gabriel explained over the hiss of oil in a pan. “It’s a sugar. Hang on, I’ll write you a list. Bring your cell phone, I’ll probably think of more when you’re out,” he called, as Dean fumbled around for some clothes in the dark bedroom.

When Dean returned, Cas was up and eating toast on the floor with Elsie while he helped her finish the surprise. 

More cries of “don’t look!” bombarded him as he padded up the stairs to the apartment and he hurried past his boyfriend and daughter to dump the groceries on the table. 

“Coffee.”

Dean laughed. “Good mornin’ to you too, angel.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel said, opening the fridge and sticking his face right in to find something. “Stir the cranberry sauce.”

Dean gave a mock salute. “Yes sir.”

With Gabriel’s professional touches and trained eye, everything went to plan. The turkey was done to perfection. The apple and sage stuffing was moist and flavoursome. The potatoes, roasted with olive oil, fresh rosemary and large sea-salt crystal were crispy and golden on the outside, soft and buttery on the inside. The carrots, parsnips and other root vegetables were also roasted, but sprinkled with maple syrup to give them a sweet kick, contrasting to the deliciously sharp homemade cranberry sauce. 

When Sam and Jess arrived, they were greeted with Dean’s masterpiece: a bowl of Union Square Café Bar Nuts: mixed nuts roasted in butter, spices, herbs and that muscovado sugar. The other masterpiece of course, was Elsie and Cas’s surprise. They had collected piles and piles of acorns, all of them painted with gold glitter. Cas had glued red and yellow leaves to the outside of mason jars so that when candles were placed inside them the whole room lit up with dancing leaf-patterned shadows. Place-names were stuck into pinecones to keep them upright, and a wreath of paper leaves, decorated by Elsie with paint and glitter adorned the centre of the table. 

It was one of those perfect moments. Everyone got along well. Sam expressed his love for Gabriel’s cooking and Jess her outrage that they hadn’t been introduced sooner. They had of course, met Gabriel on several occasions on their visits to Trickster Treats, though they had never had a proper conversation. 

Mains moved slowly onto desert, and more specifically, pies. Apple pie, with the apples soft, buttery and cinnamon-kissed, and leaf patterns on the edges of the crisp pastry. Pecan pie: sticky and sweet and dripping with vanilla ice cream. Dense, spicy, pumpkin pie topped with thick whipped cream and sprinkled with nutmeg. 

Heavy and sleepy with food, they moved their way to the sofas to read and play board games, while Sam and Dean watched the football. Jess and Elsie fell asleep in the middle of monopoly, leaving Gabriel victorious and stupidly rich. When the football ended they started watching viral cat videos on YouTube, laughing loud enough to tear Cas from his book and wake Elsie. Jess stayed fast asleep, hands cradling her stomach. (Bump, as they now all refered to the baby, had been eagerly joining in with the football and Jess was exhausted.) 

“You know what video would have gone viral, if we still had it?” Dean said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes after yet another funny cat video had ended. “When you were five dressed up as Batman and you jumped off the shed because you thought you could fly.”

“After you jumped first,” Sam added, feigning offence. 

“Hey, I was nine and I was dressed up like Superman, okay. Everybody knows that Batman can't fly,” Dean laughed.

Cas giggled, dog-earing and closing his book. “You dressed up as Superman? Do you have pictures?”

Dean blushed. “God, no.”

“Shame,” Cas shrugged. “I bet you were really cute.”

He beamed. “Oh, I was,” Dean chuckled. “Not as cute as Mr “Batman-can-fly-too” over here though.”

“I didn't know!” Sam protested. “I was five! I broke my arm.”

Dean smiled fondly. “I know. I drove you to the ER on my handlebars.... good times.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they were,” Sam said, leaning fondly into his older brother’s shoulder.

Dean caught Cas’s eye and his face melted into a smile. “I love you,” he mouthed.

Cas turned pink and mouthed “You too,” before turning back to his book, his heart almost bursting.


	47. Paper snowflakes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4th December: Dean and Cas's sixth month anniversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW.

It was never as easy as they made it look in the movies. Never as sexy either. Dean fumbled with Cas's belt, swearing softly when his calloused hands couldn't undo the clasp. And it wasn't as if Cas was helping much either. He was sniggering at his boyfriend's incompetence and enjoying Dean's warm, eager hands too much to notice how long he was taking.

Though it was Dean's turn to laugh when Cas stumbled and tripped on his briefs as he attempted to strip. He fell right into Dean's arms, knocking the unsuspecting singer to the floor in a puddle of giggles. 

"Shit! Are you hurt?" Cas worried, jumping back up, but Dean just chuckled and pulled the other man on top of him. 

His chest shook with laughter, out of sync with Cas's hot breath puffing into his mouth. "Hey..." he whispered, the sudden quiet ringing in his ears.

Cas just kissed him in reply.

"Six months, huh..." he mused, occupying his mouth with Cas's neck.

Cas's eyes fluttered shut. "Hmmm... Love you... love you." 

"...And I can't... breathe," Dean grinned, shoving Cas gently off him. "Bed," he commanded. "What do you wanna do?" 

Cas looked shy, his reply rolling awkwardly off his tongue. "We could try, ummm.... sixty-nine-ing? Or ... anilingus? Or anal like before?" 

Of course Cas would use the term _anilingus_. "Jesus fuck, Cas." Dean said, feeling himself harden at the prospect. "All of the above." 

"You sure Elsie and Gabriel aren't going to walk in on us?" Cas asked, giving himself a few strokes to warm up.

Dean licked his lips. "Trust me. They're feeding the ducks." He lay down, throwing the duvet onto the floor. "They'll be there for hours."

Cas knelt over him, facing the opposite direction, and took Dean gently in his mouth. Dean did the same. After a few minutes of experimentation they found a rhythm, moving and panting and moaning in tandem with each other, slotted together like two cogs. Dean's fingers gripped Cas's thigh for stability, and he let out a low hum of pleasure as Cas's tongue danced and sucked and licked.

"Fuck fuck fuck, stop..." Dean croaked a couple of minutes later, gulping in breaths of cool air as he moved his mouth away. "S-slow down or I'm gonna come r-real soon." 

Cas pulled his lips away with a loud pop. "Sorry, I-"

"Fuck... don't be... just... _fuck_... Can we switch it up?"

Cas straightened up and Dean rolled over, sighing happily as the cool sheets pressed and rubbed against him. He wriggled his hips up and down and moaned, and his hand tried to help but Cas pulled it away, whispering, "I want you to come... without touching yourself," in that growl of his. 

Dean ground his hips into the futon. "Fuck..." he muttered. "Cas... _fuck_."

"That's the general idea, yes," Cas said breathily, and Dean chuckled softly. 

"Dean, keep still! How am I meant to get my tongue in you if you keep moving?"

Reluctantly, Dean stilled his jerky hips, gripping the pillow in front of him for control. He wasn't motionless for long though. Cas's tongue delved deep inside him, hot and wet and slippy, and they were both dripping with sweat in minutes. 

While Cas took a second to breathe and sip some water, Dean crooked a finger inside himself and groaned, revelling in how loud he could go now they were alone in the apartment. A second finger followed, circling and scissoring. Cas watched with wide dark eyes. 

Soon, it all got too much. Cas was so hard it hurt, and as he'd forbidden Dean to touch himself, Dean had returned the favour and told Cas his hands were to do nothing either. His erection was thick and heavy, bobbing hard against his stomach as he gulped down the water. It dribbled down his chin and Dean's eyes closed, ecstatic, at the sight. 

Cas's voice was wrecked. "God. Stop. You're torturing me. Need to be inside you. Now." 

He fumbled with the condom, unable to open the packet with his slippery hands. Dean, shuddering with need, grabbed it and ripped it open. He slid it onto Cas. Lube next, then he was face down on the futon, shoulders heaving. Cas lined himself up, barely touching himself for fear he'd get carried away and come too soon. 

"Fuck, Cas... hurry up," Dean moaned into the pillow as Cas hesitated, pushing in slowly. 

"Oh my... God," Cas whispered. "Oh... Fucking... God."

Dean took a sharp intake of breath, eyes closed and hips slamming down into the futon. 

Cas bit back a loud groan as Dean clenched around him. "Are you... okay?" He worried, freezing.

"'S just... 's very... very..."

"Very what?" Cas's mouth was dry. All he could think of was _very tight_ and _very, very hot_.

"C-Cas. Move," Dean growled.

He bucked his hips upwards. Back down again to trap his dick between his stomach the now hot sheets. Up to meet Cas hips; up to hit his prostrate and shout out loudly, accidentally, seeing stars. Down again for that friction, Cas matching him all the way. Cas slowly lost his rhythm; hips stuttering as he gasped into Dean's shoulder. He gripped the bedsheets. Dean's thigh. Dean's biceps, leaving a red handprint. Sweat dripped slowly from his forehead into Dean's colourful back, landing on the branches of the winter tree which curved between his shoulder blades.

"Oh..." Cas breathed, needy and half moaning. "Oh..." 

His next words were lost under Dean's gabbled, "C-Ca... C-coming," and the following string of swear words which spilt out of Dean's mouth as he rutted against the bedclothes. 

Cas could no longer think. It was too tight, too hot, too fast, too... too...

Dean's moaning only made him harder. He glimpsed Dean's tanned fingers clutching the pillow, felt him shiver and roll beneath him. 

His own shout overwhelmed him, and he was vaguely aware of the condom filling, his whole body throbbing, Dean practically whimpering into the pillow... 

They were no more words exchanged until they eventually dragged their sleepy selves to the shower. 

Maybe Cas thought Dean wouldn't notice. Maybe he thought the tears would be lost in the streams of hot water pouring from the ceiling. 

The shower was big: big enough for the both of them to fit in comfortably, big enough that Cas could wash Dean's hair, but not big enough that Dean didn't feel Cas's shaky breath against him as he massaged his scalp.

He turned, wiped the shampoo from his forehead and opened his eyes. The wet face could have been mistaken for water, the red rimmed eyes could have been caused by the shampoo, but the way Cas bit his lip to stop any sound escaping was a tell tale sign. The way he averted his eyes to the soapy shower floor gave it all away. 

Dean rubbed Cas's shoulder and pulled him closer. He could feel Cas breathe into his ear, feel him shake with silent sobs, and couldn't tell whether it was water or tears pouring onto his shoulder. 

"What's wrong?" He asked. He turned the water off.

And Cas didn't reply. biting his lip further until Dean was sure he would draw blood. 

"Is it Balthazar?" Dean questioned softly.

Cas avoided answering by getting out of the shower and walking into the bedroom, leaving wet footprints on the floor. Dean sighed, finished washing his hair and went to find his boyfriend. 

Dressed in jeans, odd socks and one of his older brother's sweaters, Cas was in the kitchen making tea. Dean padded up behind him and wrapped his arms around his stomach, nuzzling into his neck. 

Cas turned and kissed him, and when Dean opened his eyes he saw that all traces of the tears were gone. 

"What can I do to cheer you up?" Dean murmured. 

Cas cleared his throat and replied quietly. "Bring him back."

A sad smile flickered across Dean's face. "Apart from that."

"You don't have to do anything, Dean. You've done so much. I'm fine." 

Dean raised one eyebrow. "Yeah. you're fine. But I want to make you _happy._ "

"I am happy," Cas countered, sipping his too-hot tea and pretending that it didn't burn his mouth. 

Dean have an exasperated sigh. "Cas..."

"I'm sorry," Cas uttered quietly. "Okay. Something to make me happy..."

Dean nodded encouragingly.

"Christmas. What about Christmas?"

Dean beamed. "Christmas? Yeah I can get behind that."

"I can get behind _you_ ," Cas replied quickly and Dean cackled. 

Before Elsie and Gabriel returned from feeding the ducks, all the Thanksgiving decorations were in a box, apart from Elsie's glittered acorns which Dean put in a vase on the table. When they arrived back, chatting happily and Elsie nibbling on some of the bread, the apartment smelt of cookies. Cinnamon and vanilla cookies, to be specific, which Dean was carefully crafting. He was sitting in the floor next to the oven, watching his masterpieces slowly rise and making sure they didn't burn. Cas was sitting on the kitchen counter making paper snowflakes. Tiny white triangular offcuts coated the floor. They would still be finding them weeks later. 

Elsie and Gabriel eagerly joined the decorating. By nightfall, the whole apartment and bookstore were decidedly Christmassy, and Cas couldn't keep the smile off his face.


	48. “I wish I knew how to quit you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean reveals the secret he's been keeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this chapter contains lots of pop culture references. I own none of the people / books / films mentioned, nor do I own Supernatural.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

Dean hated Christmas shopping. He hated shopping, full stop. The endless queuing; the tired and angry crowds; the overheated stores... Everywhere was aggressively Christmassy: all carols and sparkles and overly jolly Santa Clauses with whom Elsie demanded to take hundreds of pictures. At least Biscuits and Books was subtly decorated with a few handmade paper snowflakes and some Christmas lights here and there, and no Mariah Carey. Definitely no Mariah Carey.

There was so little time. The Hunters were busy with Christmas gigs in all the local bars and the bookshop was overrun with customers looking for the perfect literary gift. Constantly flour-dusted, Gabriel churned out festive cakes. His reindeer vanilla cookies and fruit cakes were becoming somewhat famous in the area. 

With Dean spending more time with the band, the bookshop seemed even more hectic. The Novaks were awake until late most nights tidying the store; ordering extra copies of popular books; receiving deliveries; sorting out the taxes. Dean was here and there, playing gigs and writing songs with the band for the EP they’d promised the record company. So when a relaxed Jody Mills returned from the school run and offered her help, it felt as though Christmas had come early. With Jody on the front desk directing customers and taking payments, Cas could focus on talking to people, helping them find specific titles and his specialty: recommending books. Owen and Elsie had a great time playing in the children's section and Jody made them dinner so Cas could be downstairs for the influx in customers who turned up after work hours. 

That evening, Dean brought home a tree, six foot huge and smelling deliciously of pine. They hauled it upstairs and left a trail of leaves on the stairs. Elsie and Cas took over the decorating, having assumed the roles of chief holiday artists in the family. Elsie made decorations to hang on the tree. Cas directed and put her on his shoulders so she could hang the star on the top. The piles of brightly wrapped presents grew as December dragged on. 

Elsie had an adorable tendency to lie among the gifts and look up at the forest of leaves and twinkling lights. When asked what she was doing under the tree she replied, "I'm a present, daddy. I'm a present."

Dean laughed, sweeping his daughter up in his arms and blowing raspberries on her stomach. "Yes you are. You're my little present, Els." 

She squealed; wriggled; placed her lips onto Dean's stubbly cheek to blow raspberries. And so what if she got slobber all over her father's face? Because her eyes were sparkling in under the festive lights, and life, for that one moment, seemed to move like a slow-motion movie reel of happiness. 

Cas kissed Dean. Smelt cologne and tasted whiskey on his breath. The slow motion stopped. 

"Are you drunk, Dean?" He asked nonchalantly. Dean always drank after gigs. It was part of the "atmosphere", he had told Cas. 

"It's Christmas, Cas," Dean replied, as if that answered the question. "You want a glass?" He opened the cupboard, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. They clinked together loudly. 

Cas hesitated before replying, "Okay, why not.” He shrugged, repeating Dean’s words, “It is Christmas.”

"Exactly."

It took two glasses before _that_ question came back. The question that had left a burn mark on Dean’s arm, not to mention Dean’s heart. 

"Dean, are you cheating on me?"

The signs had been rolling around in Cas's head for a while. The cologne was too strong, like he'd reapplied it to mask another smell. And Dean didn't wear cologne. Cas distinctly remembered hugging Dean after their first date and inhaling the scent of car oil, baby shampoo, and maybe just a hint of alcohol. No cologne. And had Dean really been at a gig? His guitar was still in the bedroom, unmoved since yesterday. But then again, Dean had lots of guitars stashed away in his car, at his apartment, at Garth's house. 

"Oh God..." Dean practically rolled his eyes. "I didn't want to tell you now, not like this, but -"

Cas's heart stopped. 

"Yes."

Dean studied Cas's face. It was stony cold. Blank. Poker face. Inside, Cas’s stomach was clenching. His mind was racing. Fear and anger bubbled in his chest and yet at the same time, he felt numb. Dean's lips twitched. 

"He's ginger..." he said slowly, "Small, very cute, and ... he's-” Dean cracked a grin. “He’s a kitten."

It took a while to sink in before Dean felt a hard punch to his arm. 

"Fuck you, Dean Winchester!" Cas laughed in disbelief. "Never. Do that again!"

"Happy... early Christmas? I guess?"

Cas's face was the epitome of happiness. "A kitten? Fucking hell, Dean… you scared me. I thought you were going to tell me you were dating Ed Sheeran. When can we get him?" 

"Who, Ed Sheeran?"

"The kitten, you assbutt."

Dean kissed the smile on Cas’s lips. "Christmas Eve. Two days, assbutt." 

Another punch to the arm. "I hate you."

"I'm sorry," Dean pecked Cas on the lips again. "I would never cheat on you, okay? Ever."

"Apart from with a kitten."

"Yeah, bestiality’s right up my street," Dean replied sarcastically.

“So what does he look like? Do you have pictures? Does he have a name yet?” Cas asked, practically jumping with excitement. 

Dean dug his phone out of his pocket and showed Cas the photos he’d taken. “He’s a rescue cat, almost five months old. No name, yet. That’s why I was out all the time. There’s so much paperwork.”

“I knew it! ‘Helping ‘Bobby at the garage’, ‘meeting a friend’, it was all bullshit!” Cas laughed. 

A pout crept onto Dean’s lips. “Hey! Not all of it! The tat theory I finished like last month, so yeah. Bullshit. You called it. But giving Bobby a hand, cooking Jess dinner, all that was real!” He grinned and said, “I’m not that much of a sinner.”

“Ain’t yet had the opportunity,” Cas added quietly.

It took Dean a while to compute Cas’s totally out of character use of slang, but then he understood. “You like gay cowboy movies, huh?” He asked, looking impressed.

“What?” 

“Brokeback Mountain?” Dean clarified. “Best gay cowboy movie out there. Lots of hot tent action.” He wriggled his hips suggestively. 

Cas still looked confused. “It’s… a film?”

“Wait a minute,” Dean shook his head, scoffing, “It’s a book?” 

“By Annie Proulx, yes. We have it downstairs. It’s fantastic novel, you should really read it w-”

Dean interrupted him. “We’re watching the film, now. Get your laptop, it’ll be online somewhere.”

“Only if you read the book,” Cas countered, shoving Dean’s shoulder. 

“Fuckin’ nerd,” Dean muttered, though lovingly. “Only if you read it to me.”

“Deal. And we can have… exercise breaks,” he raised one eyebrow, “After the ‘hot tent action’, as you say. I bet they’re better in the books.” 

Dean laughed. “You are unbelievable.”

However, by the end of the film both men had wet eyes and damp cheeks. Rough, messy, hot tent action was all but forgotten. Dean took Cas’s face in his hands and kissed him slowly, tasting salty popcorn. “I wish I knew how to quit you,” he said softly, words melting into Cas’s mouth as the credits rolled. 

Ignoring Dean's sappiness, Cas whispered back. “Can we call him Apollo?”

Dean pulled back. “The cat?”

Cas nodded, eager eyes looking up at Dean. 

“God that is so pretentious. No,” Dean shook his head, laughter filling the room. “Let’s call him Ed Sheeran. Or just Ed. Or... what about Vader?”

“As in Darth?”

“Is there another Vader?” Dean asked, so sassily Cas should almost see the finger snap. “Or Dog? I’ve always wanted a cat named Dog and a dog named Cat.”

Cas giggled, those two glasses of whiskey finally revealing themselves. “Always? Really? Your childhood dream?” He implored as he shifted closer to his boyfriend. His tongue poked through his teeth as he laughed. 

“Okay,” Dean rolled his eyes. “not _always_.” 

“And no! We can't call him Dog, that’s a terrible idea!” Cas declared. “Do you want to give our baby an identity crisis?”

“He’s ‘our baby’ now, huh?” Dean grinned. He nuzzled his head into Cas. “Fuck I love you.”

But Cas wasn’t finished. “Crookshanks. Because he’s ginger, and we run a bookstore.”

Dean shook his head. “Han Solo.”

“But the Harry Potter fans would go crazy,” Cas pouted. “It would be amazing!”

“Exactly why we _shouldn’t_ name him Crookshanks,” Dean pointed out. “Besides, sounds like you’re shanking a criminal. Not the best name for a cute, innocent kitten.”

“Fine. Nut,” Cas continued. “Not you: the cat,” he clarified. “Short for Ginger Nut.”

“ _Do_ nut.” Dean responded, smirking. “Not you. The cat.”

“Apollo.” Cas locked eyes with Dean. “Please.”

Dean’s comeback was weak; crumbling under Cas’s intense blue stare. “Dog?”

“Apollo. Come on, Dean. God of the sun. Ginger cat. It works. It's adorable,” Cas pleaded, leaning forward to kiss Dean. Their noses touched and he scrunched his up, making Dean laugh.

“It’s… growing on me, I gotta admit,” Dean shrugged. “Okay then. Apollo it is, you pretentious asshole.”

“You love me really.” Cas batted his eyelashes. 

Dean’s lips could not even kiss because his smile kept getting in the way. “I do.”


	49. The great pillow fight of Christmas 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

They had Christmas lunch at Sam and Jess’s. It was tradition. Friends and family flocked to their house for the festivities: for Sam’s famous mulled wine, for Jess’s cinnamon and vanilla cookies, for good music and good company. The regulars were, of course, Dean, Elsie, Bobby and Karen. Recent additions to the Christmas Crew were Cas and Gabriel, partly to make up for the fact that Rufus was spending Christmas in New York. 

Gabriel had made a large gingerbread house. It had cost him hours of valuable sleep time, but was, without a doubt, worth every second. The roof was tiled in chocolate buttons. Frosting dripped down the eves and formed sugary icicles. The windows glowed yellow with candies. They were encased with Twix shutters and outlined in strawberry laces. An Oreo fence ran the perimeter of the house, and little piles of chocolate sticks posing as firewood adorned the snow covered steps which led to the front door; ajar and made of chocolate. The open door revealed a gingerbread tree, decorated in green frosting and M&Ms, with presents carved from homemade fudge stacked underneath. Gumdrops were coloured lights, strung over the roof and draping from the eves, while the chimney puffed cotton candy into the eyes of hungry onlookers. 

“We can’t eat it,” Jess shook her head sadly. “It’s a masterpiece. It belongs in a museum, Gabriel.”

Gabriel smirked and made a show of breaking off a gumdrop. He popped it in his mouth, declaring, “I never liked museums much. Too much dust, not enough food.”

“I’ll toast to that,” laughed Dean, holding up his mulled wine. 

Cas, Sam and Bobby all started talking over each other about their love for museums; for knowledge gained and stories told. Elsie dipped her pinky in Cas’s mulled wine while he wasn’t looking, decided she loved it and in her hurry to down the rest of the glass before Cas noticed, spilt it all over the table. She ignored her father’s pleas to not lick the table and was removed from the room by Sam, holding her sticky body at arm’s length. After a quick wipe down of the table, and of Elsie, lunch was served. 

Steaming, delicious chicken; creamy potatoes; sweet root vegetables doused in maple syrup (a tip from Gabriel) and tart cranberry sauce bejewelled the table, which looked ready to collapse under all the plates. 

“Tuck in,” grinned Sam, and everyone dived for the serving spoons. 

There was silence for a minute or two: the kind of contented silence that comes only from eating excellent food. The candles on the table flickered atmospherically. 

The youngest Novak interrupted the sound of chewing. “Sam. Jess,” he said. “I know people who’ve done years at cookery school and couldn’t pull this off. It’s amazing. Honestly.”

Bobby raised his glass. “Here here!” he toasted, and everyone followed suit. Elsie raised her beaker of juice in one hand and her fistful of chicken leg in the other.

“Hey Dean,” Bobby continued, his eyes sparkling with the candlelight and nostalgia. “D’you remember when you were sick and Sam tried to make you apple pie to make ya feel better?” 

Dean roared with laughter, nudging his brother, who scoffed and turned pink. 

“Nearly set my house on fire!”

“Hey I was like, what, eight?” Defended Sam, gnawing on his chicken bone.

Karen shook her head, laughing. “Nine.” 

They ate until they could barely move, as per tradition. Desert was the museum-worthy gingerbread house, which finished the day resembling the sticky ruins of a castle. They gravitated towards the living room so Jess could lie down. She had been cooking all morning and was exhausted. Sam massaged her swollen feet. 

The present opening began and soon the floor was strewn with wrapping paper. Baby clothes and toys dominated the presents for Sam and Jess, most memorable of which were the adorable animal hats knitted by Cas: a cat, dog, rabbit and frog. There were games and clothes for Elsie too, as well as a storybook written and illustrated by Karen. Dean gave Sam a new jacket and a book on myths and folklore, recommended by Cas. Sam gave Dean a penknife with a beautiful carved wooden handle and some dark red Doc Martens, suitably second hand and scuffed for Dean’s liking. Cas gave Dean first edition copies of Vonnegart’s _Slaughterhouse-Five_ and _Mother Night_. Then he handed Dean a small cuboid shaped present.

“Is it a ring?” Sam joked, sipping his wine. Jess slurped her water. 

The room went silent. Silent for too long, before Cas exclaimed, “No! When I propose it will be a lot classier than in a Christmas present.”

Dean chuckled, his heart twisting with emotions he couldn’t quite comprehend. 

It was relief, mainly. They’d only been together just over six months, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to get married again. On top of that, the anniversary of his proposal to Lisa was coming up, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to deal with welcoming 2014 into his life with Cas, not Lisa. Kissing Cas instead of Lisa. It would be the fourteenth anniversary of their engagement this coming New Year, and the eighteenth anniversary of them getting together. Nineteenth if you were being specific, as they had shared their first kiss a second or two before midnight as 1996 had rolled around. (They had been too drunk. Too eager. Had fallen too fast in love, as seventeen year olds tend to do.) But along with relief came that warm, glowing bubble of excitement, because Cas had said _’when’_. He ripped off the paper and slowly opened the black box inside. 

It was a key. New, shiny and heavy in his hand. He recognised it as a key to Cas’s apartment. But it was not the old spare one he sometimes used, which was a little rusted and forever tangled in old bits of string. This key was new. It was his.

“Move in with me?” Cas asked softly. “Properly?”

They kissed, sitting crossed legged on the floor, surrounding by mountains of paper and presents. The rest of the party exclaimed how cute the couple were. Cas tried not to think of the ghost of Christmas past, and how everyone would have made similar noises of affection when Dean and _Lisa_ kissed. Elsie was the one to break the kiss by jumping on her father’s back and pretending that he was a horse and she a defiant cowboy. 

“I can’t really top that, can I?” Shrugged Dean, thrusting a pile of gifts into Cas’s lap. One was a beautiful, olive coloured sweater adorned with zips. It had a wide neck and hung delightfully off Cas’s shoulders, revealing his collarbones. It went beautifully with his bright blue eyes and black jeans. The next was rectangular, clad in snowflake patterned paper.

“Is it a book?” Cas asked, grinning as he held it in his hands.

Dean shook his head. “I was gonna get you a book, but you’ve read them all!”

“Very true,” Gabriel sighed. “You’re impossible to buy for, bro.”

It was a pile of DVDs. Some of Dean’s favourites, to be specific, meaning they were all Clint Eastwood films. 

“ _American Sniper_ …” Read Cas, examining the box. “ _The Good The Bad and The Ugly…_ ”

“You’ll love ‘em,” grinned Bobby. 

“At least, you will until Dean starts quoting them to you twenty-four-seven,” added Sam, pouring himself a glass of eggnog. 

“Shut up,” Dean laughed, swiping playfully at his brother’s head with a cushion. “You’re just as bad.”

Sam grabbed another cushion and hit him back.

And so commenced the great pillow fight of Christmas 2013.

Jess and Cas teamed up against Sam and Dean. Bobby and Dean raged war on Sam. Karen and Elsie dragged Jess away from Cas and declared, “Boys vs girls!” 

“We’re gonna win!” Elsie taunted, waving her pillow. 

Dean giggled. “Yeah? That so, munchkin?” He swept her up in his arms and tickled her until she dropped the pillow, all while receiving blows from Jess and Karen. Sam, Cas and Bobby howled with laughter as Elsie escaped her father’s clutches. Deane fell to the floor in defeat, covered by the mountains of pillows the girls had thrown on top of him

They all paused, panting. Jess sat down heavily on the pillow-less sofa, rubbing her stomach. Sam was by her side in an instant.

“You okay?” He asked softly, kissing her neck and brushing the hair out of her eyes.

She took his hand and placed it on her stomach, and he grinned wildly as he felt a tiny foot kick his hand. 

“Els, c’mere,” he said. Elsie clambered over the pillows and discarded wrapping paper. 

“You feel this?” Jess asked, putting Elsie’s hand on her stomach. “That’s the baby kicking?”

Elsie’s eyes lit up. “Wow!!!” Then, “Why is she kicking? Does she not like it inside your belly?”

Jess giggled. “No I think she just wanted to join in the pillow fight. And _she_ might be a _he_. We don’t know yet.”

“Oh,” Elsie replied simply. “What he called?”

“We haven’t decided yet,” Sam answered. “But I like the name Rory because it can be for a girl or a boy. Or maybe Robin.”

“I like Auden. And Cleo,” Jess smiled, her voice dreamy. “Asa. Alex. Finn.”

“Cleo… as in Cleopatra?” Cas asked. 

Jess laughed. “Kind of, I guess. I hadn’t really thought of that.”

“I like that they’re all gender neutral,” Karen commented. “Good choices. What about, umm, Red? Or Wren…”

“Speaking of babies,” Sam said. “How’s the kitten?”

Cas’s eyes shone even brighter than usual. “Oh my god he’s adorable,” he gushed. “I love him. He’s so cute! Here,” he whipped out his phone. “I have pictures.” 

Everyone oohed and awwed at Apollo and his big green eyes staring into the camera. At the way his paws patted curiously at the lens. At how cute he was when he wrapped himself in the duvet and only his head was visible.

Karen, who had never been a lover of cats, continued thinking of baby names. “August. Or Sky? I love the name Sky.”

“Ooh, Sky’s lovely,” agreed Jess, massaging her stomach once more. (She tried not to wince. Wincing would ruin the Christmas spirit.)

Sam noticed, of course, and kissed Jess gently. “Yeah, I like Sky.”

And speaking of sky, it began to grow dark. Sam closed the curtains and made everyone a cup of hot chocolate. Gabriel cut up the remains of the gingerbread house into bite sized pieces and placed them on a platter. Dean turned on the TV and found a copy of _Love Actually_ for them to watch. Bobby found a bag of microwave popcorn that they devoured within minutes of the opening scenes. 

Elsie fell asleep halfway through, snuggled in Dean’s lap. Gabriel’s phone rang just before the scene where all the stories finally interlink, and he sprang up from his seat, nearly upsetting his hot chocolate.

“Who’s that?” Jess whispered to Cas. Dean, about to kiss the chocolate foam moustache off his boyfriend, was pushed away so Jess could hear the gossip.

Cas grinned wildly. “I think she’s called Jennifer…”


	50. "Ain't my first rodeo."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunters' first tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

The van was packed; stuffed full of guitars and drums and amps. Drumsticks poked from between pillows and sleeping bags, guitar picks spilt out of duffel bags. Mounds of food and drink filled every nook and cranny. Garth, ever the planner, had typed up a detailed itinerary and stuck copies all over the van so no one would pester him for information. First stop: Houston, Texas, where they would be one of two opening acts for local celebrities, the Iron Slackers. After that, they'd follow the Slackers to Santa Fe, Vegas, San Fransisco, Denver. Then finally, after two long weeks, they would head home.

The twelve hour drive to the Texan capital was sweaty despite the cool January air, punctured by gas station pit stops and arguments over whose music to play to combat the sticky silence. They rotated the driver and front passenger seat every few hours, whose journey was considerably more comfortable than the three squished in at the back. Benny slept when he wasn't driving. He had that irritating ability where he could fall asleep absolutely anywhere. "Ain't my first rodeo," he'd explained when Adam has asked him why he didn't seem excited. "Course I'm excited. Just not so excited I can't sleep. You won't get no sleep on tour, brother. Better stock up now while ya can," he advised.

Adam was the baby of the band, at only nineteen years old. He was wide-eyed and fresh-faced and everything about his first tour was amazing. Garth and Ash had never played outside Kansas, but gruffly contained their excitement, wanting to appear older and more mature than Adam to avoid being Benny and Dean's teasing targets.. They passed the time playing carefully balanced games of cards and arguing over who made better music: The Arctic Monkeys or The Rolling Stones. Dean dozed at the front. He was too exhausted to be properly excited. He sprawled in his seat, wrapped in a hoodie, texting Cas with one eye open. It was only when he was away from Elsie for a while that he realised how tiring three year olds really were. Adam gazed out of the window, watching the scenery rush by. Dean's eyes slipped out of focus so it all became a blur of green and grey and the hazy white lights of the cars going the opposite way. It wasn't his first rodeo either.

Buildings rose from the dusty ground, and Houston drew closer. They were early for load-in-time, thanks to Garth's careful planning. Too broke to have any roadies, they hauled their gear inside themselves, bumping into the Slacker's leather-clad Rob on the way. Rob kindly leant them a hand. After quick introductions with everyone else, they set up then sat down waiting around for their sound check. Being first to play, their check was last, and much shorter than anticipated.

"Fuckin' Slackers..." Ash grumbled. "Taking up our precious time when-"

"Just roll with it," interjected Adam, intent on keeping the peace. "How 'bout you check with Vee to see how much time we'll get?" He wandered off, warming up his voice and jumping up and down to do something with all his extra energy. ("You're a fuckin' puppy," Dean would later say.)

"Who the fuck's Vee?" Asked Ash, fiddling absentmindedly with the wires on the floor. He was always grumpy when he was nervous.

"Sound guy," Benny replied from the corner where he was tuning his guitars. "Make friends. Maybe they'll invite us back."

"Yeah you gotta get the sound guys on your side. They the brains. They run this whole thing, ya know?" Added Jesse, the drummer from the second opening act, RailRoad. He was huge, muscled and tattooed, black ink just visible against his almost as black skin. 

"The merch all set up?" Garth asked, scanning his checklist. He was chewing one pencil and had another tucked behind his right ear. 

"Yes!" Dean yelled from the front of house, where he had just finished stacking CDs and folding t-shirts with RailRoad's dreadlocked Marty. The two of them were sharing a beer with a greasy-faced techie who was perching on the bar counter, swinging her thin legs. 

"Good!" Garth shouted back, crossing it off his list. He continued bumbling around, checking that everything was just as he wanted it. He was always a perfectionist when he was nervous.

Their sound check was practically non-existent, cut short by the doors opening and hoards of people streaming in. Most shoved and shuffled their way to the front to get the best places, while a few prioritised the bar. Many wore 'Iron Slackers' t-shirts, but Dean did spot a lone 'The Hunters' one: black with their name written on in spidery red letters which trailed off into flames, Benny's creation.

Techies buzzed around the stage adjusting knobs and untangling wires. Then it was time.

You could feel Adam's boyish excitement bubbling backstage, see Ash's nerves oozing off him in waves, hear Garth mumbling to himself as he scanned his list for the hundredth time. But nothing could beat the wild grin Benny gave Dean as they marched on stage, picked up their instruments and played the opening chords of their first song. 

And _fuck_ it was hot under the lights which flashed and pulsed in time with their beat, and the smoke which pooled around their ankles, so thick they couldn't see the wires on the floor and Garth worried that one of them was going to trip up. That hadn't been on his list of Worse Case Scenarios On Tour (And How To Avoid Them). They introduced themselves after their opener, with Garth drumming out a beat in the background. Benny got the crowd clapping in their third song. He briefly caught Dean's gaze again and beamed, seeing the excitement coursing through those bright green eyes.

Fourth song. "Uhh... So, my wife was a fed, and, uhh, sadly she took a bullet to the head one day and didn't make it. So, Lise, this one's for you." Dean always felt so awkward introducing that song. He didn't want to dampen the mood. Luckily, no moods seemed dampened. There was clapping. Cheering. Even a whistle here and there. The song was upbeat enough, angry enough, loud enough, to flush away any moods which were on the damp side. Benny gave him a massive, loving slap on the back as the song ended and they launched into their next.

Then Dean found himself thanking the throng of dancing, sweaty, tipsy people and introducing RailRoad, who launched into their act with such passion and vigour that Adam had to take a moment.

They shared brief and sweaty hugs, clapping each other on the back and laughing quietly. Then, knackered, they squeezed their way to the bar. A couple of people nodded their way, and the sun-wrinkled barmaid gave them a hearty, "That was awesome, guys," which was barely audible over RailRoad.

The Iron Slackers were ear-splitting, angry and heartfelt, and the audience loved them. Dean rushed off to man the merch stall as soon as the Slackers finished their final song, which ended with a minute long guitar riff and the lead's customary jump as the last note sounded. Benny chatted to Jesse about tattoos as they packed up, sprinkled with, "which amps d'ya use?," tour anecdotes and his opinions on Bourbon versus Whiskey. Garth took care of the money side of things, and one of the Slacker's roadies, Cole, helped them heave their stuff into the van. They thanked him in beer and a late-night kebab, but denied his offer to sleep on the Slackers motel floor. ("Ten guys in one room? Us on the floor? Man... sorry... no thank you," Garth had said.)

They drove. It past one a.m. but they were pumped with adrenaline and the all consuming desire to _go_. Adam was snoring softly by the time Ash stopped the van somewhere on the side of a road to New Mexico. 

"Motel tomorrow night, brothers?" murmured Benny, pulling on a sweater and settling down to sleep. 

"Mmhmm," replied Dean. He got out of the van and opening the trunk to find the sleeping bags. The frosty air of the small hours bit his fingers. He shoved one of Cas's beanies over his ears. He missed the swampy heat of the stage lights.

Ash asked, "Wanna hand?" as Dean stamped his feet and chucked him a sleeping bag and a packet of mints Garth had given everyone before they left because, "I just cannot deal with stinky breath, guys, alright?"

"Yeah, okay." 

They reclined the back seats as far as they would go and fell asleep curled around each other for warmth, in the most manly, "no-homo" way they could manage. Benny snored loudly from the front. Dean sighed and pushed his earphones further into his ears. The Tallest Man On Earth played softly.

He called Cas in the morning. January sales were going well. Cas had sold more books that morning than in the past two days put together. He'd had two cups of coffee. Gabriel was baking vanilla shortbread. Apollo was being extra cute, and Dean was sent the photographic evidence. Elsie had Nutella on toast for breakfast, surprise surprise, and went off to school with felt tip 'tattoos' on her arms. Dean missed her. And him.

His mouth was dry and fuzzy with last night's booze, poorly disguised by the mints. Benny drove. The day was quiet and sleepily excited. The next gig was much the same: loud, sweaty, busy. Sleep deprived grins tinted with drink and strobe lighting. They played until their fingers ached and their backstage whisperings were scratchy and sore. Garth plied them all with throat pastilles and mugs of hot honey and lemon. Dean ditched the fourth song's intro.

With the constant moving around they often forgot where they were. A week in, they'd made enough from the merchandise stall to afford two motel rooms: Benny and Dean in one, Garth, Ash and Adam in the other. Dean was grateful for the privacy and a bed that was horizontal and didn't shake every time the van hit a pothole. He didn't mind the funky stains or lumpy pillows. It was much better than the floor of the Slacker's motel room they'd slept on on days four and five, mainly because they actually had permission to be there and didn't have to sneak past the receptionist so she didn't realise there were more than double the number of allowed guests in one room. 

The bathroom was still steamy from Benny's absurdly long shower. He was now snoring loudly from the bed in the corner, his headphones on. Dean could still hear the tinny baseline as he closed the door. Dean suspected Black Sabbath. He looked at the text Cas had sent him that was way too dirty to read in the confines of the van. He replied, stripped and stepped into the shower, grateful that there was still hot water. His heart ached when, after ten minutes, Cas still hadn't replied. He was lonely, thinking about Cas and jacking off in a shower in some motel between Houston and Santa Fe. His motivation was the fact that he would fall asleep faster, rather than desperately seeking pleasure. And those few sentences from Cas didn't prove enough to push him over the edge, so he dried his hand, grabbed his phone again and typed in 'Busty Asian Beauties,' one of his most visited sites. Just the home screen was enough. He was done within minutes, spilling down the shower drain. The hot water pounded his tattooed back and he pretended that the warmth enveloping him was Cas.


	51. “Happy birthday, baby.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean turns thirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very very NSFW. Sorry!
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

When they arrived back in Kansas, Dean headed straight to his apartment. He took a long, hot bath - his last there - and slept for a whole day. He woke the following evening to five missed calls: four from Cas and one from Sam. He called Sam, who wanted to know what he wanted for his birthday and how the tour had been. 

“It was awesome, Sammy. Wish you coulda been there, man,” Dean reveled.

“Mmm,” Sam agreed. “Too bad it wasn’t nearer home. I saw a couple of YouTube videos, though. It looked amazing.”

Dean groaned. “Oh god… I bet it looks awful on screen. I sound so weird recorded. I hate-”

“No no,” Sam interrupted. “It was cool. I promise.”

“You’re just fucking with me.”

“You got me,” Sam sighed. “You were terrible. I hate you,” he laughed.

Dean chuckled. “I hate you too, man.” He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“You got it.”

He dressed among the piles of half-full cardboard boxes and drove over to Biscuits and Books where he was greeted with a rough hug from his boyfriend and a tackle around the legs from his daughter. 

"Hey pumpkin!" Dean cried, whipping her up into his arms and smothering her with kisses. "I missed you so much!"

"I missed you too I missed you too I missed you too!" She gabbled, flinging her arms around his neck.

Dean laughed loudly. "I missed you _three!_ "

"Missed you _FOUR!_ "

"I MISSED YOU _FIVE!!_ "

"So... where were you?" Cas inquired later, quietly and innocently, as he cleared away the plates from Elsie's dinner. 

"Asleep," Dean replied. "At mine." 

"You could have come here," Cas said plaintively. "I would have looked after you. I missed you." 

A quick peck on the lips. "Missed you too. But I didn't need looking after. I needed a bath and twenty hours of uninterrupted shut-eye. Besides," he grinned excitedly, "You'll have me twenty-four-seven in two days!"

The day after tomorrow. When Dean and Elise were moving in. Officially. 

Cas cracked a smile. "I know!" Then, "Jess came by. It's your birthday tomorrow. The twenty forth. Why didn't you say anything?"

Dean sighed and scrubbed at his face, glancing at the kitchen cupboard. The one to the right of the sink. The cupboard where they kept his whiskey and Cas's vodka. "Honestly? I forgot. How's Jess?"

"She's fine. The amniotic fluid is fine. The baby’s fine. Her back and feet are a bit sore, but she's fine. What do you want to do tomorrow?" He implored. 

Dean gave in. He stood up heavily and poured himself a drink, and Cas eyed the bottle suspiciously. "Something quiet," Dean said eventually. "It's a Friday. Maybe I'll go out with the band or something? With Sam? You can come too, if you want."

"You have to invite me?" Cas gave a pained laugh. "I naively assumed my presence was a given, being your boyfriend and all."

Dean's face softened. He gulped from the glass. "Sorry. That's not what I meant." He moved closer and captured Cas in a gentle kiss. Cas fiddled with Dean's tongue piercing, nibbled on his lips, sucked on his snakebites. Dean sighed happily. God, he'd missed this. 

"Sorry,” Dean whispered. “I was a jerk. I'm tired," he offered as a poor excuse.

"I was under the impression you had slept for twenty hours," quipped Cas, but he didn't push it further. "Aren't you bored of the band's company after two weeks together?"

"Bit," Dean yawned. "But it's my birthday. We always go out: it's tradition," he explained, then added, smirking, "You can come too, if you want."

"Shut up." Cas hit him round the head. 

Jess agreed to babysit Elsie. Being nine months pregnant meant she was too exhausted to have a good night out. Gabriel made a chocolate cake. Then on reflection, he made an apple pie too, with a crispy, glazed lattice covering the apples, which oozed in butter and cinnamon sugar. 

"I don't even know how old you're going to be," laughed Cas in sudden realisation as they lounged on the sofa, legs entwined. Elsie was finally asleep. Gabriel was Skyping Jennifer. They were sharing a mug of tea; fresh mint.

"Thirty,” Dean groaned, wincing as though saying the number aloud physically pained him.

Cas gasped, mockingly. "Thirty? That's ancient!" 

"Shut the fuck up."

"I thought you were twenty five. At most," Cas admitted with a kiss.

"Oh... well in that case, uhh… thank you?" Dean chuckled. "When's your birthday anyway?"

"May twenty-seventh. And, fittingly, I'll be twenty-seven." 

"Twenty-seven?" Dean laughed. You're practically a baby!" He kissed Cas's hair. “How did we never tell each other this before?”

“We’re terrible people,” Cas nodded, fully accepting his self-inflicted status. Dean giggled and kissed Cas again. He’d drained the glass of whiskey already.

He woke the next morning to coffee, chocolate cake, and Elsie, Cas and Gabriel singing happy birthday loudly and out of tune, as is customary for such a song. Sam and Jess called him to wish him many happy returns, as did Bobby, Jo, Ellen and Benny. The day at the bookshop was hectic with January sales, especially as Cas disappeared after lunch to go last minute present shopping. 

They flocked to the Harvelle Roadhouse in the evening. Bobby, Karen, Rufus, Charlie, Charlie's girlfriend Dorothy, Garth, Garth's wife Bess, Benny, Benny's girlfriend Andrea, Adam and Sam showed up, along with Cas, Gabriel, Ash, Ellen and Jo, of course. The night was fun, if not uneventful. Drinks, pie. The odd bit of karaoke, and some cheesy, tipsy slow dancing. Ellen made a fuss when Jo tried to sneak her boyfriend up to her room. Sam taught Adam how to shoot an air rifle. Garth got very drunk very quickly, but what was new? Dean opened presents. Benny thrashed everyone at darts, and Dean wasn't sure whether he won every single one of his pool games because his friends let him win, or because of some crazy birthday luck.

They arrived home all giggly, Apollo mewing and rubbing him furry body around their legs in hello. Elsie was asleep in Gabriel’s room. Gabriel was staying at Michael’s.

"Hey Pol," murmured Dean, squatting down to scratch behind his ears. "You're getting kind of fat, you know that right?" 

Cas feigned anger. "Are you calling my baby fat?" 

Dean pouted. “Thought I was your baby?”

“Since when do I _ever_ call you baby?” Cas laughed, poking Dean’s shoulder. When Dean’s lower lip somehow made it out even further, he added, “But you can be my baby as well.”

“Good.”

“Did you enjoy your birthday?” Cas asked, suddenly hushing himself as he realized Jess was asleep on the sofa.

Dean noticed too, and whispered back, “The best.”

“Because it was all… a little last minute.” Cas sighed. “I wish you’d given me more notice.”

Dean swallowed the lump that was forming in the back of his throat. Maybe it was the late hour. Or the drink. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I had a great day anyway.”

Jess was blinking, pushing the hair out of her eyes. “Hey guys…”

“Heya.”

“Hello Jess.”

She groaned. “God… what time’s’it?”

“Around half one?” Dean murmured. “I’ll drive you home,” he offered. 

“No no no, you’ve had a few. I’ll get a taxi,” Jess argued, sitting up and sipping the water that Cas handed her.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re a mom already,” he said, and Jess chuckled softly. “I drove home,” he said, hoping to convince her.

“Nah uh,” Jess laughed at Dean’s feeble attempt to change her mind. "Your breath stinks of whatever crap it is you drink. Taxi it is.” She rubbed her swollen stomach.

“Fine,” Dean gave in. “But I’m payin’.”

Jess grinned, leaning her heavy head against her not-yet-brother-in-law’s shoulder. “Damn right you are.”

Twenty minutes later, Dean and Cas stood by the front door waving Jess goodbye.

 _ << text me when u get home safe <<_  
_To Jess. Sent 01:57_

**_ >> Ofc >>  
To Dean . Sent 02:00_**

**_ >> I’m home. Hope u had a fab birthday. Sammy’s passed out on the couch – typical. Sleep well xxx >>  
To Dean . Sent 02:21_**

They hurried back inside to get warm, under comments that Jess was going to be a great mother, and how excited they were for the baby to arrive, and how Dean was glad Elsie was no longer a newborn because she slept longer and cried less. And somehow, in between all of that, their managed to find the lips interlocking. Sliding over each other in practiced motions, peppered with customary sighs. 

Dean flung off his t-shirt. Suddenly it was burningly warm, and he was breathless and drunk and turned on. Cas did his thing with Dean’s piercings and Dean melted at his touch. Soft hands roamed the expanse of his tattooed back, caressing the skulls and roses, ships, anchors and compasses that adorned Dean’s lower back. Then they found their way to Dean’s golden haired leg, painted with a geometric triangle design that spiked its way across his upper thigh, and Dean’s jeans and underwear somehow found themselves on the floor.

Dean’s hand reached for Cas’s light green sweater, lifting the bottom to reveal Cas’s belt. Cas gave a tiny shake of his head.

“I’m sorry. I… I don’t – It hasn’t been a great day.” He studied the carpet, littered with clothes and dirty towels.

Dean stopped kissing him and placed his hands gently on Cas’s cheeks, pupils wide with worry more than lust. “Oh? What’s wrong, angel?”

Cas reddened awkwardly. “Nothing’s wrong, I promise. It’s just a… bad day and I don’t want to be … naked. I don’t feel comfortable doing-” he looked up, catching Dean’s eye. “You understand?” 

Dean bit his lip. “Yeah but... it’s my birthday,” he said morosely, trying not to plead.

A smirk crossed Cas’s soft lips, and the hands returned to explore Dean’s body. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to treat you to the best birthday sex ever.” His hands reached down and grasped Dean’s cock, stroking it gently. 

Dean made a surprised noise. “Oh… I see…” he murmured as Cas’s hand moved up and down and his mouth became occupied with Cas’s lips. 

Then Cas’s mouth moved lower down. His tongue circled the tip while his hand dragged achingly slowly up and down the length. Dean’s hands entangled themselves in Cas’s hair as he moaned softly. 

He thrust gently into Cas’s mouth, reveling in its warmth and wetness. He gripped Cas’s shoulders, leaving little red marks on the skin even through the sweater, when Cas sped up; sucking and licking and lapping at the precome that was already puddling at the tip.

“Fuck s’good…” Dean breathed, eyelids fluttering. 

“It gets better,” Cas replied, wiping his mouth, somehow making that gesture incredibly sexy, and standing up. He disappeared into the bathroom and came out holding something behind his back. “Birthday present,” he announced.

Dean took it curiously, ripped off the wrapping paper and laughed in surprise. “God… you know me well.” 

He opened the box and took out the large black vibrator. 

Cas’s lips were starting to feel sore. “Roll over,” he said gently. It was always ‘gently’ with Cas. 

Dean wriggled and struggled to keep a clear head as Cas worked him slowly open. First tongue, then fingers. The vibrator wasn’t even in yet.

Then they tried to turn it on. “Ugh fuck it needs batteries,” Cas groaned, gritting his teeth. Why couldn’t he have thought of this earlier? 

“Fuuuuck.”

“Fuuuuck,” Cas agreed, and hurried into the living room to find some AA’s. 

Dean could hear the clattering of drawers being opened and things being thrown across the room, and then finally, a “Found them!”

A “Thank fuck.” Then a “Jesus f-fuck…” as Cas slowly worked it inside him, his ever present hands on Dean's hips as he did so.

“Good?” Cas whispered, pressing a kiss to the inside of Dean’s thigh and tasting salty sweat. 

Dean nodded eagerly, his mouth too dry for words and his face still buried in the pillow. Cas turned the vibrations on, and even the lowest setting made Dean whimper.

“Turn around,” Cas instructed softly, tinged with nerves he hoped that Dean wouldn’t detect.

Dean did so, eyes meeting Cas’s and his heart thumping and his breath coming in little gasps as the vibrator pressed against his prostate when he lay down. Cas resumed his position, kneeling over his boyfriend. Dean whined, the stimulation from both sides making him almost dizzy with pleasure. Cas reached over and turned up the intensity of the vibrations.

“Je-esus…” Dean moaned, eyes falling shut and back arching. Cas hummed in reply, sending Dean gasping for breath and grappling at the sheets for something to steady himself on. The navy blue sheets in question creased in spirals from Dean’s fist and found nails dug into them as Cas did unspeakable things with his mouth. Really, the sheets bore the brunt of it, especially when Cas drooled come over them only minutes later. 

“Cas,” Dean panted as the overwhelming heat pooled in his stomach and curled in his toes and spilt into the other man’s mouth. “Cas…”

Cas coughed and spat messily into a towel on the floor, only slightly missing. Lifting his eyes again, he found Dean sprawled on the futon, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The vibrator was somewhere on the floor, buzzing away. Cas turned it off. Dean was shiny with sweat, his hair sticking out at all angles and illuminated from behind so that Cas could see the individual strands.

“Fuck…” Dean whispered, a laugh on his lips.

Cas grinned. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Oh god I take it all back,” Dean cringed. “Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay darling,” Cas replied, lying down heavily next to Dean and slotting his head into the crook of Dean’s neck.

Dean ruffled Cas’s gravity-defying hair. “Shut it, angel.”


	52. "We have a daughter."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day Dean and Elsie move in with Cas, and it ends in a huge surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

The next day, Dean and Cas woke up at five. The bookshop was closed for the weekend because they were going to do what they had been planning furtively for months: Dean and Elsie were moving in with Cas. Gabriel was moving into Dean and Elsie’s old apartment across town. The money, bills and paperwork side of things was already done; the product of late night form signing and Gabriel’s intense desire _not_ to be in the same house, let alone the same area of town, as his older brother and his boyfriend. Hence why he’d stayed the night of Dean's birthday at Michael’s house.

Just like when they renovated the bookshop all those months ago, they’d managed to recruit a whole team of people to help out, to avoid getting professionals in and it costing ten times more than it needed to. Benny arrived at six a.m, followed by Michael and Gabriel at six thirty, and Sam, Bobby and Ash around seven. 

Gabriel fed them all with toast and coffee, directed the team and looked after a very, very excited Elsie. Being the smallest of the men, he left the others to do the heavy lifting of his cardboard boxes and furniture. He was also still half asleep, pretty hungover from Dean's birthday and did not trust himself to carry anything down those treacherously steep attic stairs that early in the morning.

The team left Gabriel’s things piled in the lobby of Biscuits and Books while they drove over to Gabriel’s new apartment to repeat the same procedure with the Winchester belongings. By twelve, they were unpacking Dean and Elsie’s possessions from the vans they had borrowed from Bobby’s garage. They munched on sandwiches, perching on the mountains of cardboard boxes in front of the bookshop’s reception desk. Cas milled around offering everyone tea (they refused and asked for coffee) and reminded everyone to be careful and not damage the books. 

Dean drove Elsie to Sam and Jess’s so she would be in company that wasn’t covered in dust or wielding sledgehammers, making a pit stop at their old apartment to say goodbye. Elsie ran around shouting, “Bye bye bathroom! Bye bye bedroom! Bye bye kitchen! Bye bye daddy’s bedroom!” and asked if they could, “visit the house when the new people live here so it doesn’t miss us?”

Laughing sweetly, Dean replied, “Of course we can, munchkin! Because… d’you know who the new people are?”

She shook her head, wide eyed. Dean could have said anyone and she would have believed him. The President, aliens, Spiderman, her kindergarten teacher, and Elsa from Frozen were all equal contenders in her mind.

“Gabe!” Dean exclaimed.

“Gabe?!” The younger Novak was certainly just as thrilling as all the other options that had been chasing each other through her mind. She giggled and clapped her hands together.

“Gabe!” He confirmed. 

Her laughter was catching, and he’d caught it all right. They giggled all the way to Sam and Jess’s, which was convenient, because it blocked out that tiny voice at the back of Dean's mind that couldn't quite believe this was all happening, and was being being rather judgemental about the whole thing.

While both houses were relatively empty, the team took the opportunity to decorate. Gabriel had big plans for the small apartment. It was his first house he would live in alone, and he was turning it into the swankiest bachelor pad he could afford. They were using the money that Balthazar had left them in his will. As it turned out, being a BBC reporter had paid very well. Both Cas and Gabriel felt a little guilty using their older brother’s money.

“He would have _wanted_ us to use it, you know,” Cas had murmured during a lapse in customers one sunny Wednesday morning. 

“I know,” the reply had sounded from the bookshop kitchen. Plumes of steam had risen from the oven as Gabriel took out a batch of chocolate orange cupcakes. “I still feel like…” he trailed off.

“I know,” came the reply from behind the reception desk. Cas slurped his coffee. “But we have to use it for something,” he reasoned, more for himself than for Gabriel’s benefit. “I don’t want it just sitting around collecting dust. He w-was practical.” (It still took some effort for Cas to force out that past tense.) “We need to move, to redecorate. Let’s use it to benefit our lives now.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel had agreed. “Now, not for a pension fund when we’re ancient or for our kids or whatever. Now. He w...would've wanted that.”

So Gabriel some of his share of the money to paint ‘feature walls’ in trendy bright colours and hang large black and white prints of metropolises London and New York in ornate photo frames. By Sunday, he had moved in all of his furniture and belongings.

Dean handed him his last set of keys ceremoniously. “Your first apartment, dude,” he grinned. “Congrats.”

“Thanks Dean-o,” Gabriel slapped him on the back. 

The moving-in job was a little more intense back in the attic at Biscuits and Books. Gabriel’s room was to become Elsie’s, with sky blue walls and white snowflake decal stickers that Cas had found online to fuel her love of Frozen. They had to dismantle and reassemble her bed to fit it through the door, but at least she no longer had to sleep on a beanbag or the sofa. 

The locked door in the living room that led to the boarded up, unused staircase was knocked through by Benny and Dean with sledgehammers, borrowed from Bobby. The staircase led to the side street, and they decided to use it as the front door to the attic, leaving the doors of Biscuits and Books solely for business purposes. Cas eventually gave in and let Dean replace his ancient futon with Dean’s double bed, which was considerably larger more comfortable. The TV joined Cas’s sofas in the open plan living room.

“Can I put these here?” Yelled Dean, staggering in with a huge box of DVDs in his arms. He indicated to Cas’s meagre collection with his head. 

“Of course. What’s mine is yours, Dean,” Cas grinned, and he helped Dean place them onto the shelves. In alphabetical order, of course. 

Later, Dean asked, “Make some tea, will you?”. He flopped onto the sofa in front of his – their – TV after they had finally unpacked most of his and Elsie’s things. 

“Make it yourself,” came Cas’s reply; friendly but to the point. 

Dean huffed and stood up to do so, but was interrupted by his phone ringing. ‘Heat of the Moment’ broke the silence that was tense in a way that Dean didn’t quite understand. 

“Sammy?”

 _”Dean!”_ The younger Winchester almost shouted. _“Dean, Jess has gone into labour!”_

Dean burst out in surprised laughter. “Oh my god! Isn’t it like a week early? Congrats! Oh my god…” He replayed the information to Cas, who grinned and mouthed his congratulations.

 _“Congrats? Bump isn’t even born yet!”_ Sam gave that telling, nervous laugh of a parent-to-be.

“You know what I mean,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Do you guys need a lift to the hospital or somethin’?”

 _”Already there.”_ And come to think of it, Dean could hear the busy bustling of the maternity ward in the background.

“I could drive by yours, pick up some stuff it you need me to?”

He could hear the proud smile in Sam’s reply. _”We had a go-bag. We got everything we need. If I think of something, would you though?”_

“Duh.” He heard Jess groan with pain. “Listen, I’m coming to the hospital with Cas to take Elsie off your hands. How’s Jess?”

Some muttering that Dean didn’t catch, then, _“It hurts like Satan’s fucking asshole, I’ve just been told.”_ He reached out and pushed Jess’s hair out of her face. _“Contractions have just started again. Gotta call you back,”_ he gabbled.

“Okay, just whatever you do, don’t complain if she crushes you hand. What she’s going through is a million times worse,’ Dean advised, holding his phone between ear and shoulder and shrugging on his coat.

 _”Got it.”_

“We’re leaving now. With you in fifteen,” Dean informed, hanging up. 

He chucked Cas’s coat and scarf at him. Cas looked up from his book, annoyed that the heavy coat had creased one of the pages. “Wait,” he grumbled, “Let me finish the chapter.” 

Dean looked astounded. “Didn’t you hear? They’re having the baby! Let’s go!” He danced with adrenaline. 

“Make a thermos of coffee while you’re waiting and pack some food. Leftovers. Something. Hospital refreshments are always grim,” Cas instructed without looking up from smoothing out the creases in the paper. “And some toys for Elsie. She’ll get bored.” 

“Yessir.” Dean gave a mock salute. Cas didn’t notice. 

Elsie was in the play area when they arrived, supervised by a spotty girl barely out of her teens. Children weren’t allowed in the maternity ward until after the birth. She was surrounded by at least ten other children who had been abandoned by their adults in times of medical need. Sam was by Jess’s side ninety per cent of the time. The other ten per cent was spent rushing to the coffee machine, to the play area to check up on Elsie; to the bathroom to panic quickly and quietly about all the responsibilities of being a parent; and back to the maternity ward to caught in Jess’s vice-like gip and remind her to breathe. He accepted the thermos of coffee like a child receiving presents on Christmas day from that lone uncle who buys the sorts of toys mom and dad would never buy; the sorts of toys children dream about. 

Six long hours passed in which Cas took Elsie home, and Dean flitted in and out of the hospital, running errands for Sam and Jess (because they had forgotten multiple things despite the go-bag) and unpacking his final cardboard boxes. The baby was born just after one a.m. on Monday the twenty seventh of January, five days early, weighing nine pounds. 

Dean, alone now that Cas had taken Elsie home to bed, waited outside for someone to emerge from the room. When the door finally opened, it was Sam, wet-eyed and grinning so hard Dean was scared he’d pull a muscle. 

“It’s a girl,” he announced softly. 

Dean whooped and pulled his little brother into an almighty, all be it, one-armed hug. The other arm was holding the open thermos of coffee. A few people in the waiting room; nervous relatives of other parents-to-be, clapped and gave their good-natured congratulations. 

“Nine pounds,” Sam said sheepishly. 

Dean choked on his coffee. “ _Nine?!_ ”

Sam nodded. “Nine.” 

“That’s ‘cause of your gigantor genes, you know that right?” Dean laughed. 

“Does mean she’s extra cute though.” 

Dean shrugged. “I bet she’s adorable. But that’s all down to Jess,” he poked. “Can I see her?” 

Sam nodded and pushed the door open. Jess was sitting up in bed, crying softly as she held the newborn in her arms. Just the sight of Jess crying started Sam off again, and Dean ruffled his brother’s hair affectionately. Following her parents' lead, the baby let out a wail, flailing her little fists. The adults laughed and ‘aww’ed. She was naked, save for the diaper and her wispy golden hair, and that’s when Dean noticed that her skin was… blotchy. It was as if somehow had failed to colour in her knees and elbows, and pale white patches stood out against her flushed pink skin. Smaller patches of white blossomed all over her body; on her back, her stomach, her forearms and her thighs, as well as a pea sized splash underneath her right eye. 

And her eyes. They were not blue like Jess’s, or hazel like Sam’s, but a breath taking and sparkling grey. 

“What… happened to her skin?” Dean asked tentatively. 

“It’s called Vitiligo. It’s a type of hypopigmentation. She doesn’t have enough melanin. Most cases develop later in childhood. S'very rare to have it from birth,” Jess explained, her experience as a paediatrician shining through. 

Dean gazed lovingly at his niece. “She’s okay though, right?” 

“Yeah, she’s fine. It doesn’t hurt her. She’ll just have to wear a bit more sunscreen, is all.” Jess’s voice was hushed. The baby had just fallen asleep. 

“Pam said there’s no cure though,” Sam shrugged sadly. He wiped his eyes. 

“Pam?” 

“The doctor,” Jess clarified in a whisper. 

Dean nodded. “She’s gorgeous, though. Really.” 

This brought on a new wave of tears from Jess. “I know,” she cried, chuckling softly as the tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Sam thumbed them away and kissed her hair, then his daughter. “You were amazing, my darling.” 

Jess laughed harder. Luckily, the baby didn’t stir. “I know,” she admitted. 

“How’s your hand?” Dean smirked. 

Sam flexed it. “I’ll survive.” Turning to Jess, he grinned, “Can I hold her again?” 

As the baby was gently passed over, Sam whispered, “Careful,” and “Watch her head,” and “I love you, baby girl,” as the newborn scrunched her eyes and wriggled in her father’s arms. 

Sam looked at the bright lights on the ceiling and sniffed hard to stem the onset of tears. Then he looked down at his daughter and kissed her head again. “Fuck it,” he whispered, and he started to cry. “Fuck,” he murmured. “We have a daughter, Jessie. We have a _daughter_.” 

And all Jess said was, “I know,” with her eyelids drooping and fluttering in a way that only eyelids, and perhaps butterflies, can do. 

“She have a name yet?” Dean whispered. 

“Not yet,” Sam shook his head. He too was falling asleep. Still holding his daughter, he slumped in the chair by the bed. Dean took this opportunity to take photos of the sleeping family. 

“Jess, you cleared to go home?” Dean breathed sometime later, not wanting to wake the baby. 

She nodded. 

“I’ll drive you home then. I used the spare key and cleared up a bit on my way back here, and picked up the car seat and stuff. There’s a hot lasagne in the oven that Gabriel made. If you want.” 

“Of course we want, Dee,” Sam mumbled, chin on chest, eyes still closed, baby snuffling softly in his arms. 

The next time Sam spoke he was in the back seat of the impala, holding Jess’s hand. The baby was in the car seat strapped between them, and his eyes were still closed. 

“Dean, what’s takin’ so long?” 

“Nothin’s taking long,” Dean replied quickly. 

Jess tore her eyes away from her daughter to glance at the dashboard. “He’s driving at twenty,” she snorted. 

Sam laughed incredulously. “Since when d’you drive below the speed limit?” 

“Since I have my beautiful baby niece in the backseat,” Dean said simply, prompting puffs of exhausted laughter from the new parents. 

“You didn’t do this with Elsie,” Sam poked, smiling softly and cooing at his daughter. 

Dean snorted. “I didn’t drive at all with Elsie! I didn’t put her in the car until she was like four months old.” 

Jess wiped away the condensation on the window and peered out. “But driving _under_ the speed limit! I thought you were meant to be the cool uncle,” she teased. 

“Shut up. I am the cool uncle,” Dean huffed, and the baby gurgled and mewed in agreement. 


	53. Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets home late and Elsie meets her baby cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

It was past three a.m. when Dean got home.

 _ << you guys need anything – diaper runs, sitting – anything, just call. and congratulations. again. you’re gonna be amazing parents <<_  
_To Jess, Gigantor. Sent 03:18_

Apollo greeted him sleepily as he came in the door. He cringed at how loud the click of the lock was.

“Hey Pol,” he breathed, bending over to scratch the cat’s ears. 

“You’re right,” came a soft voice from behind him. 

Dean jumped. “Fuck Cas you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” He said, voice raising to a whisper-shout. 

Cas laughed, and then Dean was laughing too. All tensions dissolved.

“Sorry.” 

They shared a chaste kiss, more of a second long peck than anything else. 

“Anyway, as I was saying, you’re right: he is looking a little fat.”

“We spoil him,” Dean murmured as Cas took off Dean’s coat for him and led him to the bedroom. 

The large double bed fitted well in Cas’s room. It made the space feel complete. Cas fell onto it, yawning, “You could have texted. How’s Jess? How’s the baby?”

“’M sorry. They’re fine. It’s a girl. She’s gorgeous, healthy, a massive nine pounds thanks to Sammy. No name yet. But, umm… she’s got this thing. This skin condition,” Cas gasped. “It’s nothing serious its called… vilitigo?”

“Vitiligo,” he corrected. “Hypopigmentation disorder.”

“Know-it-all,” Dean grinned, swatting at Cas’s head.

“Is it bad?”

Dean hesitated. “It’s… noticeable. But she’s white, obviously, so it isn’t too obvious.” His stomach rumbled. “You want some midrats?”

Cas made a snuffley noise, resembling the baby. “Midwhats?”  


“Midrats,” Dean repeated, as if that would clear anything up.

“What are midrats?” Cas asked, a little exasperated. He rolled over onto his stomach. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Uhh… midnight rations? I think? Military thing. My dad used to say it all the time when we were kids.” His stomach rumbled again, and his clicked his back loudly. “I was gonna make some toast or somethin’. Tea? If you wanna join?”

Cas repositioned his head on the pillow so that he was no longer facing Dean. “No. Thank you.”

“Uhh, okay.”

“Did you use the new front door?” Cas’s question was muffled by the pillow.

Dean frowned. “No… I forgot. Why?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Right,” Dean mumbled, and padded away to the kitchen. He came back with a plate of grilled cheese and leant against the doorframe. “How’s Elsie? She get to sleep okay?”

It took a while for Cas to reply. Shaking off the shade of sleep, he replied, “She’s fine. She asked after you, and I said you’d be back in the morning.”

“Thanks.” A large bite of the cheesy toast. “God… she’ll be up in like, three hours.”

Cas swore softly and shifted around to get comfortable. He wasn’t really used to sleeping on a bed with springs. Then, after a pause, he said, “Love you,” quietly and mainly directed at the pillow.

“Yeah.”

Dean checked his texts in the morning, bleary-eyed and yawning over lukewarm coffee.

 ** _ >> How is everything going? Any idea what time you’ll be back? xxx >>  
From Cas. Received 23:30_**

**_ >> Is everything okay? Has the baby been born yet? >>  
From Cas. Received 00:59_**

**_ >> I’m going to bed. I hope its all okay. I love you. >>  
From Cas. Received 02:45_**

**> > Thank you, youre the best. Just got her back to sleep. <3 >>  
From Jess. Received 05:03**

**> > Love u man. What do u think of August? Or Finn? For names. >>  
From Gigantor. Received 06:41**

“You didn’t do the dishes last night,” Cas noted, steam billowing from his cup of coffee. 

“It was three a.m. Cas.” 

“Still.” 

Dean sighed loudly, draining his cooling coffee. “Look. I’ll do them now okay? Then I gotta go to Bradbury’s.” 

“You’re not here today?” And Dean could’ve sworn there was a ghost of a pout on Cas’s lips. 

“’S Monday,” Dean shrugged, his hands now covered in foamy bubbles. 

“Right. Yes. I’ll see you this evening then,” Cas replied. 

Dean caught Cas’s gaze. “Not lunchtime?” He dropped his eyes back to the washing up. “We could do lunchtime?” he said hopefully. 

They didn’t do lunchtime. 

In the evening, they went over to Sam and Jess’s so Elsie could meet her baby cousin. They brought soup leftover from the day in Biscuit and Books (carrot and coriander) in a thermos, along with some of Gabriel’s seeded rolls and a big box of orange and ginger cookies. It was a new recipe Gabriel was trying out, but it hadn’t really worked. They tasted amazing, but were ugly splodges and splatters of dough, not up to the same high standards as the rest of Biscuit and Books’ delicacies. Sam and Jess didn’t mind at all and insisted they bring them over. 

Elsie squealed when she saw the baby, looking adorable in a white onsie and the frog hat Cas had knitted. “What’s his name?” She bounced. 

“ _Her_ name, pumpkin,” Dean corrected. 

Elsie was outraged. “Pumpkin? But that’s _MY_ name!” 

Everyone laughed, and the three year old pouted. 

“Heya Els,” Sam grinned.“Don’t worry yourself. She’s not called Pumpkin. We know that’s your name!” 

“So what's his name?” Elsie persisted. 

"She's a girl, sweetie," Jess explained. "So you say, 'what's _her_ name'." 

"Ooh. What's _her_ name?" Elsie repeated 

“Well, that's the thing. She doesn’t have one at the moment,” Sam explained. “We haven’t chosen one yet.” 

Elsie’s brow furrowed. “Why chosen?” 

“Because when people have a baby, they get to choose the baby’s name,” Jess said, sipping her soup. 

Elsie turned to her father, astounded by this new information. “Did you choose _my_ name, Daddy?” 

“Sure did,” Dean smiled. “But your mommy helped too. You could’ve been called Esme, but we chose Elsie ‘cos its closer to you mommy’s name.” 

“What was mommy's name?” 

Silence. “Lisa,” Sam replied, when Dean discovered that his lips wouldn’t move and his throat was jammed. Cas placed a gentle hand on Dean’s knee. 

“What do _you_ think the baby should be called, Els?” Jess asked, changing the subject tactfully. 

And without any hesitation, the toddler replied, “Spot.” 

There was a brief, awkward silence where no one knew whether to be laugh or be offended on the baby’s behalf. 

“Because she has a spot here,” Elsie poked the baby’s foot gently. “And one on her hand.” Another cautious poke. “And her eye, and-“ She stopped, realising that everyone was looking at her. 

‘Spot,” Jess mused, “… I love it.” She turned to Sam expectantly. 

But Sam was looking down at the baby in his arms with gooey eyes. “Hey Spot…” 

Officially, they settled on the name Cleo, after Cleopatra, because “she was awesome,” as Jess said, but not _short for_ Cleopatra, as that would be “sound pretentious,” as Sam put it. Cleo; middle name Auden after Jess’s favourite poet W.H; last name Winchester, known affectionately as Spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while! School and uni applications have been mental.


	54. Cas’s heart didn’t flutter like it used to.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunters are manically prepping for their next tour, and the run up to Valentine's day feels equally as hectic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of drinking.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Beta'd by the incredble [brokenncastiel](http://brokenncastiel.tumblr.com/).

Dean was in a fantastic mood. The Hunters had just been asked to be the opening act for Arrowhead, a rock band from California that was touring the West Coast. Arrowhead’s usual opening act, a brothers’ duo by the name of Outline, had had to cancel due to a death in the family, so everything was a little last minute. The Hunters would be leaving in just over a week on a Sunday afternoon, in time for the first gig on Monday evening in Olympia, Washington State. Arrowhead and Outline had agreed to cover lots of the costs for the Hunters, to pay them for the trouble of leaving everything so late. 

The band was overwhelmingly excited but Adam was ecstatic. They spent the evenings rehearsing their set lists and polishing up their new song ‘Matte Black Heart’. Benny and Dean worked late at Bradbury’s to get through all of their customers, or at least lighten the load for Charlie during their absence. 

Cas tried to share in their enthusiasm, he really did, but all he felt was a niggling sense of jealousy that Dean spent more time with the band than he did with his boyfriend. A feeling of protective anger bubbled inside him when he realised that Elsie hadn’t seen much of her father either this past month. Cas was pretty much the expert on absent fathers and what to do when your parents don’t live up to your expectations. He knew how Elsie must feel, and tried not to hate Dean for what he was doing.

Dean was also an expert in those feelings, and he was terrified of turning out just like his father, but he was good at shoving down those feelings as far as he could get them. He tried to focus on the upcoming tour - organising last minute merchandise, stocking up on provisions, and saving money for gas. 

Meanwhile, Cas focused on Valentine’s Day. Luckily, books were still a trendy present to give loved ones, along with the customary and completely obligatory flowers and chocolates. He bought Dean a leather guitar strap to replace his old fraying one and a recipe book of easy-to-make gourmet meals. Since Gabriel had moved out, Cas and Dean had had to fend for themselves, though the younger Novak did often whip up something quick for the other two when he had a minute to spare in the bookshop café. They kept forgetting to buy groceries: necessities like coffee, pasta, and toilet paper - things Gabriel always picked up during his weekly shopping trip. It was like leaving home all over again, but this time they hadn’t actually gone anywhere. 

Cas was pretty sure Dean had forgotten all about Valentine’s Day. He resigned himself to this fact, and forced himself to be rational and understanding. Despite not being a fan of the holiday, it still hurt that Dean seemed totally focused on things other than his love for Cas. In fact, Dean hadn’t entirely forgotten. On the thirteenth, after a full day at Biscuits and Books, he suddenly realised the occasion and rushed off to do some last minute shopping. He disguised it as an emergency rehearsal, but he knew that Cas could see right through him. He bought Cas an expensive sweater he’d seen him pining over at Christmas, but which Dean had failed to buy, until now. It was black and knitted in thick wool with silver zips at odd angles covering it’s entirety. The colour was more out of Dean’s book, but the asymmetrical cut and expensive label screamed Cas. Dean was certain he’d love it. 

On his way back from the mall, Cas called, and from his back pocket, Elvis belted out the opening lines to that song Cas adored. 

“Uhuh?” He answered. 

“Hello, Dean?” Cas replied. 

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, who else would it be?”

“I… don’t know. Can you go to the supermarket on your way home? We’ve run out of a couple of things. I keep forgetting soap.”

“We’re terrible at this, aren’t we?” Dean laughed.

“I’ll text you a list.”

“Great. See you soon.” He added an “I love you.” An afterthought. Because it fitted. Because it flowed from his lips like a reflex. Like breathing. 

But Cas had already hung up.

 ** _ >> Soap, mouthwash (the blue one NOT green), rice, toilet paper, Nutella, sausages – pork, pesto, matches >>  
From Cas. Received 20:42_**

Dean also knew that they’d run out of his favourite brand of whiskey, toast, condoms and make-up remover. He bought these along with the items on Cas’s list. By the time he arrived home he was thoroughly exhausted. God, he hated shopping. 

Cas was frying chicken. The whole apartment smelt like spices and Dean’s stomach rumbled expectantly. He tiptoed into Elsie’s room to kiss her goodnight, even though she had been fast asleep for hours. Her room had finally stopped smelling of paint. Dean hated the smell. Cas loved it. 

“Dean you bought pudding rice!” Cas yelled from the kitchen, biting back his frustration. 

“What?”

“Pudding rice. To make rice pudding.? We can’t have this with the chicken…” he looked morosely at the frying pan where the meat was sizzling. 

“Sorry…” Dean yelled back. He heard Cas groan in frustration. 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Dean smiled lopsidedly as he entered the kitchen. He took the wooden spoon gently from Cas’s hand. (Cas hoped Dean didn’t notice that it was shaking.)

“The chicken looks amazing, angel. I’m sorry about the rice. I was being an idiot.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“Sorry.”

Cas’s lip twitched. “It’s ok. Little preoccupied with shopping for tomorrow, where you? Mmhmm?”

“Mmmhmm. Shut up,” Dean kissed Cas’s cheek. 

“We can totally make rice pudding though.”

“Of course,” Cas agreed. “I know a lovely recipe for kheer.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Kheer?”

“It’s an Asian rice pudding, made with coconut milk and raisins and it’s really fucking good. I think it’s Indian?”

“Ah. Right. Sounds great, really. Let’s make it tomorrow.”

Cas bit his lip. He was making much more of a fuss about his chicken than was really necessary. He shook the pan of frying chicken. “But what about…?”

Dean grinned and gently nudged his boyfriend out of the way. “Let me work my magic,” he grinned, “and boil me some pasta.”

Dinner, when it was eventually ready, was chicken and pesto pasta. Not up to Gabriel’s high standards (they had no parmesan or basil to garnish), but still delicious. 

For Valentine’s Day they decorated the bookshop with a couple of red streamers and stuck big pink and red hearts on the bookshelves, but nothing too over the top. Neither of them was a big fan of the holiday, but they were smart enough to realise that decorations attracted customers. They both disagreed with the commercialisation of love, but made an effort because it was their first together. 

Cas loved his sweater. Dean was very happy with his guitar strap, especially in light of the fact that he was leaving for tour in two days. Too tired to cook one of the meals from Dean’s new recipe book, they ordered in a pizza and spent the evening watching Game of Thrones. Dean opened his whiskey on the second episode and poured Cas a glass of vodka cranberry.

“I thought we’d run out?” Cas questioned, eyeing Dean’s glass of honey coloured drink. 

“We had. I brought more.”

“Bought,” Cas corrected automatically, and Dean rolled his eyes.

Two more episodes passed before they spoke again, but by the time the next sex scene appeared on the screen, Cas couldn’t see it because Dean was straddling him and placing kisses along his neck. He let this continue for a few minutes before gently shoving Dean off of his lap.

“Don’t you wanna?” Dean pouted. 

Cas could smell the drink on his tongue. He bit his lip. “Not really. I’m sorry.”

Dean leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s okay.”

“Besides, we’ve run out of condoms.”

“I bought more,” Dean smirked, emphasising the ‘bought’.

Cas looked surprised. “Oh.” Then, “You’re drunk.”

Dean shrugged. “A little. You want another drink?” He stood up.

“Just water, thank you,” Cas replied, sounding as if he was talking to a waiter.

Walking - definitely without wobbling - to the kitchen, Dean poured himself another whiskey and Cas a glass of water. Cas smiled when Dean handed him the cool glass. Their fingers brushed. 

Cas’s heart didn’t flutter like it used to.


	55. “So am I just not good enough for you?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They argue, and it's messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: arguing, drinking.
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Beta'd by the incredible [brokenncastiel](http://brokenncastiel.tumblr.com/).

Dean was working on one of the meals from his new recipe book for dinner the next evening. It was tagliatelle with a red wine tomato sauce and chunks of melt-in-your-mouth beef. Cas was reading ‘A Game of Thrones’ aloud. 

“This is really good, Dean. I mean really fucking good,” Cas smiled, lips red with the sauce. 

“Thanks,” Dean grinned. “You wanna have rice pudding for dessert?”

“Sure, but it takes hours and hours to cook.”

“Let’s pretend we’re twenty again, get drunk, stay up late and eat the rice pudding at some stupid hour of the morning,” Dean suggested, twirling the pasta around his fork.

Cas laughed and nudged Dean’s leg with his under the table. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll look up a recipe.” He searched his back pocket for his phone, and when the search proved unsuccessful, picked up Dean’s from where it was lying on the dining table. 

Dean heard Cas swallow hard.

“What’s this, Dean?” He asked, his voice low and level. 

“What’s what?” 

“This.” He handed Dean the phone. 

Dean’s eyes scanned the screen. In the search bar, Cas had typed _Asian rice pu_ and the previously searched results stretched out below. The list of results with common words was embarrassingly long, the most recent of which was a page entitled _Busty **Asian** Lesbian Action!_ which he had visited only yesterday. The ‘Busty Asian Beauties’ homepage featured a lot on this list. Most of the results were from when he was on tour, the most notable of which was _**Asian** Chick With MASSIVE Tits Sucks Me Off_ , which he’d visited more than twenty times in the past few months.

“Uhhh... porn?” Dean said simply.

“Yes I can see that,” Cas replied cooly.

“Is that a problem?”

Cas hesitated. “But we’re exclusive. We agreed that.”

“We never agreed to no porn,” Dean countered, putting down his fork. Suddenly, the meal he’d slaved over didn’t taste so good.

“I thought… I thought that was obvious.”

Dean grimaced. “Well, it wasn’t, okay? And it’s not a big deal? I’m not cheating on you. We’re still exclusive. Porn isn’t real life.”

“It’s real enough,” Cas huffed and scrolled through the long, long list of results. “Why are they all girls?”

Dean laughed mirthlessly. “Come again?”

“I was under the impression that you were gay.”

Again, that laugh. Reckless. Cold. And it was only now that Cas realised it was already tinged with drink. He noticed the open bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter next to the piles of dirty pans and open packets of spices. “I’m bi, Cas. Bisexual. It means I like both - ”

“Thanks I know what it means.”

“Good.”

“But you’re with me,” he pouted.

“That doesn’t automatically make me gay! Being with a guy doesn’t stop me liking chicks.”

Cas sighed, exasperated. “Can’t you… just…?”

Dean snarled. “Just what? Pick a fucking side?” 

Cas was silent.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Castiel. I didn’t expect that from _you_.” Dean stood up loudly, the chair clattering to the floor. He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey. Cas refrained from commenting, and the room fell silent.

After a minute or two had passed, Cas asked, “So am I just not good enough for you?” His voice was quieter than before as he had just remembered that Elsie was sleeping in the next room.

“What? What kind of question is that?”

Cas shrugged.

“I love you, Cas. I do. But-”

He was interrupted by Cas’s dismissive laugh. “Of course there’s a ‘but’.”

“Let me finish!” Dean snapped.

“ _But_ we never agreed to no porn, okay. And you can’t control every aspect of my fucking life.” He finished the glass of whiskey. It burnt his throat.

“But yesterday? On Valentine’s Day? That’s cold, Dean, even for you.” Cas got up and cleared the half full plates so Dean wouldn’t have to see the wetness in his eyes. 

“Even for me? Jesus, Cas. You left me with blue balls after you said no to sex, _again_. What was it this time? Too tired? Headache? Didn’t want me to see your fucking scars? On your fucking _period_?”

Cas shook his head slowly. “Fuck… you really want me to be a woman, don’t you? We’ll I’m so FUCKING sorry I’m lacking in the breast department Dean Winchester!”

Dean glugged more whiskey into the glass. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly. He sipped, swallowed, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Cas huffed. Dean drained the glass and dropped it loudly on the table. Cas spun round.

“Will you stop drinking?” He hissed, his blue eyes stormy. Dean swallowed thickly. “Try to make it through the night without being blind drunk for once in your sorry life,” he snarled.

Dean had never seen Cas so angry before. “You make it sound like I’m an alcoholic.”

Cas sighed. “You _are_ an alcoholic, Dean. You come back from gigs drunk. You drink whenever something’s bothering you. You can’t deal with your problems sober. You’re on your, what, fourth glass this evening? That’s not healthy, Dean.”

“I – I don’t drink whenever I have a problem.”

“We’re arguing, and you’ve done nothing but drink to numb the pain,” Cas said, his voice slow and steady as if explaining it to a child.

“I’m not-”

“Stop lying to yourself!” Cas shouted. “Stop lying to me!”

Dean glared at Cas. “You’ll wake Elsie,” he whispered aggressively.

Cas clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shit.”

They listened for a few tense, silent moments. Apollo mewed pathetically. Elsie stayed asleep. Or at least, if she did wake up, she didn’t emerge to see what all the shouting was about 

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Dean said slowly. “ I can control myself. Yeah, maybe I drink a lot, but I don’t need booze to fix my problems. I can live without it.”

Cas just nodded as if to say ‘keep telling yourself that’. He tugged on his new sweater.

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Dean repeated, as if repeating it would make it come true. As if it would stop him turning into his father. 

“I’m sorry.” Cas bit the inside of his cheek. It sounded so far from sincere.

“Well sorry don’t pay the bills, does it?” Dean retorted. “I’m going to Benny’s” he announced bluntly. Marching past his overturned chair, he grabbed his coat and car keys and slammed the door. 

Cas gulped. He cleared the kitchen, putting the half eaten meal in a Tupperware box in the freezer and washing the plates and pans by hand. The rhythmic scrubbing helped regulate his breath. Who needs a dishwasher, he thought as he stacked the clean crockery back in the cupboard. His hands were dry and sore, his eyes red and wet. Then he sat down on the kitchen floor and wept.


	56. “I was just… weeding?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean seeks refuge at Sam and Jess's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: alcohol abuse, alcoholism
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating alcohol abuse.
> 
> Beta'd by the fabulous [brokenncastiel](http://brokenncastiel.tumblr.com/).

He was too drunk to be driving, really. The road was blurred and he made two wrong turns on his way to Benny’s, even though he’d made the journey more times than he could count. Then again, in his state, he couldn’t really count. It dawned on him that he could hit someone, maybe even kill someone. Or he could be pulled over for drunk driving and arrested. Or be killed himself. And his overwhelming reaction to all of this was, ‘I don’t give a _shit_.’

The Lafitte household was empty when he got there: no lights on inside, no cars in the driveway. Frustration washed over him and he kicked their garden wall angrily. He swore loudly, clutching his foot, and a light in the upstairs window of a neighbouring house turned on.

“Fuck me…” Dean said, not bothering to lower his voice. He scrambled back into the Impala and drove in circles for half an hour before deciding to go to Sam and Jess’s.

It was too late to ring the doorbell. He searched for the spare key hidden in the flowerpots but in the dim light it was impossible to find. Soil was everywhere. The light on the front porch flickered on and the door opened.

“Dean?”

Jess could see his silhouette, kneeling in the damp grass, shoulders heaving with laboured breaths. He stood up, soil dropping in clumps from where it was caked around his knees and sprinkled in his lap. 

“I was just… weeding?” Dean suggested, swaying slightly. “You – you have a lotta weeds.”

“Yeah…” Jess gave a slight smile. “Haven’t had much time to garden with Spot around. Key’s in that one,” she pointed helpfully to the flowerpot on Dean’s left, the only one he hadn’t searched. 

Dean shuffled over, lifted a stone in the flowerpot and procured the silver key from underneath. “Ah.”

Jess smiled. “Why don’t you come inside, hon? It’s freezing out here.”

And now she mentioned it, Dean realised that it really was. His teeth chattered. “No. No I should get going… Sorry I woke you… Where the fuck are my _fucking_ car keys?” he dropped to his knees again, searching through the piles of soil he’d left on the driveway.

“Back pocket.” It was Sam’s voice. He was holding Cleo in one arm, and handed her over to Jess. He padded over to Dean, barefoot, his hair golden, puffy and backlit by the porch light. Dean took his brother’s outstretched hand and heaved himself up. 

“Come on, man. Inside.” Sam murmured gently. 

Dean protested weakly, patting his back pocket for his car keys. “No I really should drive home. Where the fuck are my…”

He trailed off, seeing the glint in Sam’s eyes as the younger Winchester dangled the car keys in front of him. Dean reached for them, but Sam jerked them away. 

“You can’t drive,” Sam smiled, ushering Dean into the kitchen and pouring him a large glass of water. “Man, you’ll have a hell of a hangover in the morning.”

Dean groaned and gratefully accepted the glass.

“What happened? You and Cas have a domestic?”

Dean nodded.

“Well you’re always welcome here,” Sam said, patting Dean on the shoulder. “You and Elsie. Any time.”

“Yeah,” Jess agreed and Cleo snuffled in her sleep.

“You… uhhh… wanna talk ‘bout it?” Sam asked, shifting awkwardly on his bare feet. Feelings weren’t really Dean’s thing.

Dean shook his head.

“Okay then,” Sam said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice.

“Bedtime,” Jess said gently, showing Dean upstairs to their spare room. Sam chucked Dean one of his tracksuit bottoms, a v-neck shirt and a spare toothbrush.

“Shout if you need anything, yeah?” Sam said softly, closing the door.

“Mmmm,” Dean replied, falling face first onto the bed. 

The door clicked shut. Dean heard them murmuring outside. He caught the words ‘drinking’, ‘Elsie’, and ‘brother’ before he passed out.

Sam woke at three a.m. to heavy footsteps stumbling past his bedroom door. He slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Jess or Cleo, who was sleeping in a crib next to their bed. HE could make out Dean’s figure in the darkness hitting the wall to find the bathroom light. Squinting in the sudden brightness, Sam followed his brother into the bathroom.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice scratchy from sleep. He pushed his long hair out of his eyes. 

Dean threw up into the toilet bowl; a groaning, wet response. He slumped on the floor, head resting on the cool toilet seat. Sam tiptoed downstairs to fetch a glass of water. When he returned, still shielding his eyes from the light, he found Dean hunched over, shivering and shaking with big gulping breaths. 

“Shit,” Sam mouthed. 

Though he was well practiced in dealing with his brother’s panic attacks, sitting on the bathroom floor with an drunk, panicking Dean at three a.m. was not his idea of fun, especially as he was permanently exhausted since Cleo had arrived. He put a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean flinched.

“No touching?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t move, didn’t seem to register Sam’s presence. 

“Okay, no touching this time. Hey. Water. Rinse your mouth out,” he instructed.

Dean did so. Sam flushed the toilet, opened the window, and sprayed some air freshener. He told Dean to breathe slowly. As he drained the glass, water dribbled down the older brother’s chin, and Sam dabbed at it with a flannel. 

“What’s botherin’ you?”

Dean shrugged. His heartbeat, once racing, was slowly returning to it’s normal pace. His mouth was paper dry. He stood up woozily and drank from the bath taps. “Bed,” he rasped, and Sam nodded. 

“You okay now? He asked as Dean pulled the duvet up to his chin. His eyes glinted, wet and red-rimmed. Sam pretended not to notice and instead dug around in the bedside table for some mints which Dean gratefully accepted. Sam reached over to plump the pillows and ended up smoothing down Dean’s hair. You could call it stroking. (Sam refused to call it stroking.)

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he soothed. “You and Cas’ll work it out, okay? But in the meantime you and Els can stay here with us as long as you need.”

Dean nodded, trying to smile his thanks. “I can help with Spot if you want,” he whispered, eyes drooping. 

“Only if you’re sober.”

Dean nodded again, and started snoring. Sam fetched him a huge glass of water and some aspirin, which he placed on the bedside table next to the mints. 

“Sleep well, jerk.” Sam whispered affectionately, closing the door.


	57. He was dying. He must be dying.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean leaves for tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!

He was dying. He must be dying. His throat was raw, his nose blocked, and his head was on fire. His mouth tasted of vomit, poorly masked by a glimmer of peppermint. He whimpered as he cracked open one eye, moaning with relief when he saw the painkillers and glass of water on the bedside table.

Fuck. Everything ached. His hand trembled as he reached out to grab the aspirin, and he knocked over the full glass of water. It splashed onto the expensive carpet.

“Motherfucking…” he whispered, righting the glass. He drained what was left of the water and popped too many aspirin into his mouth, along with three mints. He’d intended to get a towel to mop up the water, but promptly fell back to sleep.

He was awoken by Cleo crying. He groaned and stumbled to the bathroom to wash his face and scrub the fuzzy feeling off of his teeth, and met Sam on his way back to bed. 

“You’re up,” Sam grinned. “Finally. Lunch is on the table.”

“Lunch?” Dean rasped. “Wha’sa time?”

“Just gone one.”

“Why aren’t you at work?” Dean massaged his forehead. 

Sam gave him a funny look. “It’s Sunday. You really are out of it, aren’t you?” He said, shaking his head fondly and patting Dean on the arm.

“The sixteenth?” Dean asked, and Sam nodded. “Fuck. I’m leaving for tour in like, an hour.”

He thundered back to the guest room and pulled on yesterday’s soiled clothes. Soiled in a literal sense. He’d trodden the remains of last night’s archaeological expedition into the carpet. Fuck.

“I’m driving,” Sam said, simultaneously waving the keys in Dean’s face and kissing Cleo and Jess goodbye. 

“’M sorry about… all… this…” Dean muttered as they hurried out to the Impala.

“’S alright,” Sam replied, a caring smile on his lips. “ It’s ok to fall off the wagon every once in a while.” His smile turned into a wicked, boyish grin as he started the car. He hadn’t driven the Impala in ages.

Dean remembered to go through their new front door this time. “Thanks for the lift,” he said, getting out and rushing inside. Sam followed.

“No problem.”

“Can you drive me to Garth’s?” Dean yelled, throwing clothes into a duffel bag. He sounded so sorry for himself that Sam immediately agreed.

Cas came into the bedroom to find Dean buried in piles of clothes and Sam leaning casually against the bathroom door. “Hello Sam.” He paused, glancing at his hands that were wet from washing up. “Dean.”

Sam nodded awkwardly. “Heya Cas. I’ll… uhh… wait in the car. Cas, you need help lookin’ after Elsie, just give us a call.”

They made eye contact: Sam’s hazel with Cas’s blue. Sam’s cool gaze seemed to say ‘don’t fuck up my brother’. Cas’s, ‘thank you for looking after him’. 

“Thanks,” Cas smiled, and Sam left. “I don’t have his number.”

“I’ll text it to you,” Dean replied, looking up from his bags for the first time since Cas had entered the room.

“How… are you?” Cas bit his lip.

Dean swallowed. “Fine, thank you.” To fill the silence, he stood up and went into the bathroom to pack his wash things. 

“Daddy!” Came a squeal from the next room, and Elsie came rushing in, face sticky with lunch. “Uncle Sammy!”

Dean laughed, pulling her up and hugging her tightly. “Aww, sorry sweetie. He just left. You’ll see him soon though.” He didn’t mention that Sam was waiting outside in the car. He needed to leave as soon as possible, and if Elsie knew that her Uncle was here, they wouldn’t leave for hours. The two of them got on like a house on fire. 

“Was Spot here?” The three year old asked plaintively. 

“Nope. She’s at home with Auntie Jessie.” He zipped one duffel shut and started filling the next.

“Oh,” Elsie said, disappointed. “Where are you going?”

“On tour, baby. I’ll be gone two weeks, remember? Like last time.” He shoved in underwear, socks, t-shirts, sweaters, spare guitar strings, deodorant, earplugs.

“Oh.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said, face full of her brown curly hair as he kissed her head.

“Gonna miss you too, daddy.” She peppered his face with wet kisses. “I love you.”

“Love you too sweetheart,” Dean grinned, tickling her under the chin. She giggled and Dean’s heart swelled.

“Elsie,” Cas said quietly, standing in the doorframe. “Why don’t you go and finish your lunch. You don’t want it to get cold.”

“Okay,” She bubbled, standing up and running out of the room.

“You shouldn’t have driven last night,” Cas whispered, trying not to hiss.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You could’ve been in an accident.”

“But I wasn’t,” Dean countered.

“Why didn’t you call? To say you were safe? I was worrying all night.” He rubbed the dark circles under his eyes.

“My phone was dead, I was completely out of it, and honestly, wasn’t in the mood to talk. Still not.”

Cas swallowed loudly. “Right.”

“You look after her, ya hear? Dean zipped up the bags and slung them over his shoulder. 

“So this is how it is then,” Cas muttered. “You go off for another couple of weeks, leaving me to look after Elsie. We don’t see you for ages, you get drunk, get off with a couple of girls while you’re at it, and we don’t talk for two weeks.”

Dean squared his jaw. “No.” He spat. “This is how it is. I go off for two weeks to do my fucking job. Music is what I love, Cas. What I’m good at. And it would be real great if you were a bit more supportive instead of whining all the time about how I don’t see you enough. Don’t you think I feel that too? Don’t you think I don’t miss you? I don’t miss my daughter?”

Cas said nothing. 

“It’s hard, okay? Balancing three jobs ain’t easy, and then I gotta make sure I see my baby girl grow up, and that I’m there for her, and-”

His phone rang. It was Garth. He declined the call, staring at the gap between the wall and the door, at Cas’s hands clenching and unclenching, and the way the light fell onto the floor in winter afternoon puddles. 

“I’m sorry. I gotta go.” He hurried downstairs to pack his things into the Impala. A second trip was needed to bring down his guitars, and a third for the amps. When he eventually dragged himself back upstairs, Cas presented him with a cup of coffee and two slices of toast.  
“Eat.”

“I don’t have time, Cas,” Dean sighed. 

But Cas insisted. “Sit down for five minutes and just… I don’t know… breathe. Eat some toast. You’ll feel better. Five minutes isn’t going to make a difference.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he took the toast and took a few tentative bites, not sure how his stomach would take it.

“I’ll Skype. We can talk then.” Cas said as Dean downed the coffee in one. It scorched his mouth. He didn’t let it show.

“I don’t want to talk, Cas,” he said, voice almost emotionless.

“Maybe you will in a couple of days,” Cas replied hopefully. “I… this…” 

“Maybe.”

Cas cleared his throat. “What we have means so much to me. I don’t want to lose it.” Dean was silent. 

Cas handed him a large box of painkillers and a bottle of water. “Look after yourself.”

“Yeah.” 

He kissed Elsie goodbye and promised to call her as often as he could. She kissed his eyebrow and flung her arms around his legs when he tried to leave. Outside, Sam honked the car horn. 

“I gotta go.”

“Right.”

He gave Elsie one final hug and left, closing the front door behind him. Exhausted, he leant against the closed door. He wiped his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Inside, Cas did the same.


	58. Kira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets Kira and wins $400.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Apologies for any mistakes - please comment if you find any!
> 
> Little bit NSFW.
> 
> Trigger warnings: drinking
> 
> If you don't want to read this chapter for the above reason(s) but want to find out any plot details that you missed, leave a comment on this or any other chapter, or message me on my [tumblr](http://cuddleycas.tumblr.com/). Stay safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not romanticising or in any way advocating alcohol abuse.

Dean was in a foul mood for the entire drive to Sacramento. He was so grumpy and so obviously hungover that none of the band let him drive, which only irritated him further. If he was driving he could concentrate on the road, and not his slowly breaking heart. His only consolation was the fact that their headliner, Arrowhead, was paying for their motels for most of the tour, which meant comfy beds (relatively) and showers (sometimes). 

The Hunters found their second tour much the same as the first: exciting, exhilarating, exhausting. Arrowhead was a great band, but the venues were rougher, and the audiences rowdier. There was more drinking, more drugs, and wilder after-parties which left them playing gigs with little niggling headaches the next day. Not that they let it show. They were too professional for that, despite it only being their second tour together. 

When Dean had left, Cas had been adamant that they talk about their argument. Two days into Dean's tour, and now Cas wasn’t so sure. He was sort of enjoying the quiet, the space without Dean. Maybe they’d rushed the moving-in part of their relationship. Maybe it had all been too soon. Even though Dean and Elsie had been practically living over Biscuits and Books for weeks, now there was no time just for himself. Just for Cas. 

Unknowingly, they both agreed on this matter. Dean felt enclosed, cut off, stuck. There was nowhere that was wholly _his_. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to be with the memory of Lisa, not least now he and Cas shared the bed that he and Lisa had once shared.

It was in Portland, just after calling Charlie to ask how she was doing alone in Bradbury’s, that he spoke to Cas.

“Hey.” His voice was huskier than usual, after a week of not enough sleep and too much singing.

“Hello.”

“How are you?”

A pause. “Good, thank you.”

“How’s Elsie?”

Cas gave a small smile. “She’s fine. She’s missing you, though.” _I’m missing you, though._

“How’s business in B ‘n’ B?”

“Good. How’s the tour?”

“Tiring… Great though.”

“Are we…?” Cas started, looking down.

“… Gonna talk about it?” Dean finished, a ‘no’ already on his lips.

Cas was changing his mind again. Now, after just over a week without Dean, he was starting to feel the withdrawal symptoms. The side of the bed was cold, and there was an excess of pb&j and whiskey in the kitchen, and the evenings were too quiet without Dean singing in the shower or strumming away on the sofa. 

“I was thinking… umm… we do it face to face.”

“This is face to face,” Cas pointed out helpfully.

Dean rolled his eyes. “This is Skype. It’s not the same.” There was a pregnant pause. “I should go,” Dean said softly. “We’ve gotta set up. Doors open soon.”

“Okay. I have to… wash up, anyway.”

“Give my love to Elsie,” Dean said, and the camera shook as he tried to find the ‘end call’ button.

“I will.” _Be safe._

“Bye.” _I miss you. I love you. Still. Kind of._

“Bye, Dean.” _I love you too._.

The gig was loud and sweaty, the crowd hungry for music and drink and dancing. It was possibly their best gig yet. The crowd even asked (well, yelled) for an encore, even though they were only the opening act. Dean glanced backstage, catching Morgan’s eye. Morgan was Arrowhead’s lead. He had midnight blue, Kurt Cobain style hair, a wicked grin and jeans so ripped that they were more hole than denim. Morgan nodded. _Go for it._ Ash motioned to the sound guy to up the bass. 

And they were off. The crowd clapped and roared and sang along, the lights pumping and the beat throbbing in their ears. They ended to a thunder of applause. Benny wiped his dripping face on a cloth and threw it into the crowd. Some people dodged the sweaty missile, others dived to catch it. 

The bar afterwards was hot and full of shoving shoulders and pointed elbows. Three separate people bought Dean drinks to congratulate him on their performance. He took a fourth on the house from the bartender they’d made friends with before the show, and headed outside for some fresh air. It poured down his throat like ice water, and he relished in his goosebumps.

“Hey,” a voice said, dripping with an accent Dean couldn’t place.

Dean turned to locate its owner. She was blonde, pretty, wearing too little, with acres of lipstick on her face. She smoked lazily, seductively, aware that Dean was watching.

“Hunters, right? Benny?”

“Dean.” He corrected, swaying her way. 

“Ah, sorry,” she said, not sorry at all. “I’m Kira.” Wordlessly, she handed him the cigarette, which was lipstick-stained and nearly finished.

Dean shook his head, fingers hot. He tried to give it back. 

“You’re in a rock band and you don’t smoke?” She challenged, refusing the rapidly diminishing cigarette.

“Oh I see how it is,” he smirked and took a drag. He had always been the competitive type. “I quit four years ago,” he said remorsefully as she plucked it from him and took a final drag. 

“Ah well,” she sighed dramatically. “Old habits die hard, huh?” She flicked the glowing thing to the ground and rubbed it into the dirt with her pointed heels.

“Guess they do.”

“Stay here,” she ordered, and disappeared inside. 

She emerged with two more drinks, something fruity and colourful that Dean would never had ordered, but was surprisingly delicious. And surprisingly alcoholic. Kira’s hair was brushed, puffy and shiny, and her breath smelt like mints. In hindsight, if he could smell her breath, he had probably been standing too close. That didn’t occur to him in the moment, especially when, after another drink and three more cigarettes, he was tasting her breath on his tongue. 

“Bathroom,” she panted, and Dean agreed. 

They re-entered the bar, a pushed through the mass of hot, sticky people to reach the stalls. She shoved him against the wall, manicured hands on his chest, and devoured his mouth with hers. He grunted and tried not to moan. Someone in the next stall sighed loudly. She fumbled for his belt and zipper, and Dean, growing harder with every second, tried to help. Four hands drunkenly fumbled, and somehow, Dean’s jeans and underwear slipped over his hips. And then she gave him the blow-job of his lifetime.

Dean wasn’t usually a talker. But – and maybe it was the drink – the words spilt out of him like he was in a porno. Someone banged on their locked bathroom stall as he came, and she swallowed. (Cas had never swallowed.)

“Who’s Cas?” she asked hoarsely, her mouth salty and sticky.

They kissed again, rushed and hot. Dean cupped her breasts, massaging them and watching her moan and sigh with pleasure. 

“Nobody,” he whispered, dipping his fingers into her underwear and feeling the hot wetness there. She rolled against his hand, rubbing herself up and down.

“She your ex?” She moaned softly. 

“Somethin’ like that,” he whispered back in her ear. He crooked his fingers. She shuddered against his shoulder. It may have been a couple of years, but he certainly still had the skill which had earned him Lisa’s title of ‘Dean, best-night-of-my-life, Dean’ back in high school. She came quickly and quietly, and they made out for a few more minutes, panting and groping and grunting. 

They were interrupted by a voice, Benny’s, and a rapping on the door. 

“Dean, come on, will ya? Some drunk guy’s playin’ pool and we need to win some gas money. We need your help, brother.”

“Coming,” Dean said, trying not to sound like he just got off with some random girl in a grotty bathroom stall. He pulled his jeans and underwear back up, buckled the belt and opened the door. He didn’t look back at Kira. He didn’t meet Benny’s eye. 

Dean was drunk, but his opponent was drunker. He feigned stupid for the first game, letting the guy win the $50 on the table. Then he challenged the guy to a rematch, and somehow, suddenly, the band’s $250, their only gas and provisions money, was at stake. But even after five drinks (or was it six?), Dean was a pro at hustling pool. He thrashed his opponent, and Garth, who had been biting his nails the whole game, slapped him on the back. They were $200 in profit. 

Dean pretended to be surprised. He pretended to not realise how the points had added up. “Holy fuck! Beginners luck I guess?” He laughed. 

And he was challenged to a rematch. 

They ended up $400 in profit, and the rest of the night was a little hazy for all of them after that.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're enjoying it!! Comments, bookmarks, constructive criticism and plot suggestions (and kudos, of course) are all very very welcome. I read ALL the comments even if I don't reply to each one and they really mean a lot so thank you :)
> 
> I'm really busy with A levels at the moment so updates will not be regular. Hopefully I'll post at least once a month, possibly more. If it's been a while, drop me a comment and I'll tell you roughly when the next chapter will be up.


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